The Contingent

PLEASEREAD: Here is the repository of journal entries and cases files that have been written by members of The Contingent.

If a player enjoys writing reports or journals of games, they will earn a Re-Roll to be used any time during the current season. A player can any number of rerolls banked at a time, and use no more than 1 per game session. The Storyteller is the last word whether a re-rolls is appropriate to the situation

Entries may be subject to editing to adjust formatting for consistency.

TAGS

The Following Tags are used for Adventure Logs:

Season #
Denotes what season this post falls within

Journal
A personal journal entry by that character

Case Files
An official report submitted by a member for the records kept by The Contingent. All Case Files are also Tagged with the session’s name.

Flavor
Photos, postcards, telegrams, news clippings, etc. All sorts of things that add to the season’s experience, but perhaps not directly to a particular session or character

Jack looked over the research he’s accumulated. The Contingent had been digging into this for months and made very little progress; it only took him two weeks.

Maybe I have more to contribute to the Contingent than I thought. Maybe they didn’t dig back far enough…she has been around for a very long time and the Flaming Heart iconography has been used so widely for so long. Even the Catholic Sisters of the Sacred Heart adopted it. Hopefully the interrogators will get more out of Claudia now, but it’s difficult to get answers out of someone that only speaks with her hands—and every time you free her hands she tries to kill you.

Claudia earned a doctorate in ancient history with a specialization in Ancient Rome. She hasn’t been highly productive, but the papers she does release always seem to have ground breaking insights into Roman history. Usually her papers were involved with more rural and agrarian areas than the normal population centers that most historians focus on.

We know who her source is now that, but I guess we always did. I can’t believe she was cheeky enough to actually cite herself. A number of Claudia’s papers—including her thesis—cite Antonia Scaletti, which was the name on the deed of the house that Sarah Winchester bought and continued to build and expand on. It seems that this site was known as being close to the underworld, or prepared for this task for at least a century. Looking back on Antonia’s work, she also cited some of the same sources that Claudia did. She’s probably been doing this for a long time, always being recognized as a Roman history scholar every half century or so as she changed identities. This certainly made collecting all of the relics from Pompeii easy to explain. It seems like anything authentic that she could pry out of museum or university collections, she would grab; vases, pipes, broken pieces of murals, bowls—all fair game.

Through an "Immortals Among Us” conspiracy site, he was able to find pictures of Claudia going back centuries. Stella has only shown up more recently. She wasn’t listed in the “Immortals among us” database, but has shown up recently in pictures with Claudia. One of the members has been feeding any photo archives she can get her hands on into a facial recognition system she designed to run on Amazon. Never underestimate what smart, obsessed people can accomplish. Conspiracists will continue long after a research assistant has given up, even post docs. If only that effort could be spent on more productive studies, think of what they could do for humanity. On the other hand, maybe she just did. Some of the most interesting photos showed that she was at the first excavations of Pompeii and even most of the subsequent large excavations…and that was the key.

Focusing on Claudia’s and her previous nome-de-plumes’ research and papers around Pompeii turned up a story of a prostitute with dark hair and a beautiful voice. One of her clients apparently became too jealous of sharing her with others and in a fit of rage cut out her tongue, leaving her mute. This woman went on to become a priestess in a cult called the Followers of the Flaming Heart. This passage didn’t have much additional detail on the cult—that requires more research. However, it did say that shortly before Vesuvius’s eruption, the cult was trying to warn the citizens of Pompeii to get them to leave.

That definitely falls in line with what was on the video recording and what was found in the cave at the fountain head. It appears that as they drained the souls from the homeless and indigent of San Francisco and used them as vessels for their followers from Pompeii. They were able to coax the memories (or the souls?) of them out of the River Lethe where they brought it to the surface under the Winchester House. The Contingent has the lists of people, who they were, and who they are. He shook his head. I’m not even sure which deserves the past tense now, or what we can do about them.

John leveled a glare at his brother, Rhys. “Since the day I learned the truth. And with him digging up god knows what as a part of his normal job, he didn’t want anything hurting us. Him distancing himself from us was for our own good.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Richard, who practically raised you since father’s passing mind you, just up and disappeared for our own good. What it sounds like is he got tired of you being so dependent.”

“Oh, fuck you, Rhys. I was angry too, but this shit is serious. Haven’t you been watching the news? There are DEAD things walking in DC. You can’t tell me you don’t believe any of this after what’s been happening.”

“Yeah, the biggest hoax in history following in the wake of Jackson Carver’s death. You know what, they said the world was gonna end after the Mayan calendar, and before that, Y2K. People are fucking crazy, and this is just another psychotic episode in the history of man.”

John opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped. Perhaps the first time in a long time he managed to do such. Explaining it didn’t seem like it was going to achieve much. He turned, collecting his jacket and a set of keys that weren’t his (neither were, technically).

“I’m taking your car, poindexter. Look for shelter when you decide to believe. You’re still ‘near’ the delta and they’re draggin’ a bomb out that way.”

“What? No! I’ll call t-”

“And what? Show them the stolen car out front?”

Rhys blanched, having forgotten in the heat of their discussion that John did, in fact, arrive in a stolen car. That was gonna have to be moved…

John paused at the door, offering his brother a thin smile. “I’ve already chatted with sis. I suggest you do to. You know, just in case.”

With keys twirling in hand, he settled into his brother’s compact. Probably not the greatest thing to make a cross country trip in, but it was better than being pulled over for grand theft auto. With the turn of the key, the radio clicked on, playing a familiar tune.

Harry launched a multitude of windows across the screen by hitting Enter. Each flashing texts or graphics before closing to leave a single window with stats churning upward. He watched intently as the numbers continued to climb, After they passed some invisible threshold he relaxed and said to himself, “There, at least that’s done.”

Bringing up his multi-TOR mail client, he had so ironically named “Dark Mail,” he started typing, stopped, started back up again. This repeated process culminating in a break to grab beer and slices of cold pizza.

Before trying to start the email he checked the progress one last time on his “final” burst of videos and data. Already some of the seed boxes were reporting thousands of downloads, meaning it would never go away, had several dozen confirmed opens on the emails to journalists, bloggers and forum admins. These series of videos and information set around giving people hope and the information to take down things they may encounter; as well as those records of friends to humanity. Those creatures struggling in the darkness to protect humans, up to now, without thanks.

Harry stared at the screen for about an hour, or three beers later, before he started to type again.

To: Contingent <conalias-script_0156a9>
From: Harry McCoy <darthcamera.onion>
Subject: If there is no tomorrow

“Howdy,

For those who don’t know me I’m Harry McCoy, formerly of the Frequency, E-GaDs and one of you.

I’m heading off to San Fran, see if we can put an end to whatever it is that woke up out there. Hopefully document it while I’m there. I know I probably won’t. You see I think I carry at least two, maybe three, marks of the Patrons. If you don’t know what those four monsters are read up now!

I’m still not sure what some of us have done is the right thing, exposing all of this. It seems to have created so much panic and paranoia that the Patrons can probably tap into. To that end I’ve now released more digestible chunks and videos for news, and people in general, to explain ways they can protect themselves, identify “good” supernaturals, and give them hope. Let the people’s thoughts turn from horror to hope. I hope it helps.

So on to the sappy part. I’m not a combatant. I know that. There is a very good chance I won’t be making it out of San Fran. If not drink one for me. I’ll do the same for any of you that fall if I’m lucky enough to still be standing at the end.

It really has been a pleasure working with all of you. Every single one of you have been amazing; I couldn’t agree with Elijah’s video more.

To that end. Happy Hunting,

Harry McCoy.”

Hitting send the message is sent via “The Dark Web” and public to each agent’s preferred method of receiving email or text, at least the ones that Harry could dredge up.

This Never-Ending Road to Calvary

“So this is it, man, one way or the other. We win or we die. Or maybe we win and we die. ¿Quien sabe?"

“Girl, why you gotta be so damn depressing right now,” Reggie replied, “when y’all so damn close to the end of this shit?”

“Because I need it to be over, hermano. I was ready for it to be over in Raleigh. Two seconds away from picking Mal up and walking through that door straight into Hell, just to finish this. Church says that’s a sin, but then, we’ve apparently been praying to robots all along, so I’m not sure how much sin really matters, you know?”

“Listen, kid, before I was a car, I was drunk and homeless, so I know a few things about not feeling like anything matters. The only place that kinda talk leads is further down the hole. And that’s the last place you need to be if you’re gonna be fighting the zombie apocalypse or whatever. So, seriously, get your shit together and go kick ass, baby. It’s what you do. And quit asking your damn car for advice, chica. That’s what that half-wit down in New Orleans is for.”

The soft huff of a suppressed laugh escaped Eva’s lungs as she answered, “ _ Si, _ Regg, I know. But no one knows me better than my car. Not even my girl, since the whole soul replacement thing.” She lovingly ran her hand along the steering wheel of the ‘70 Impala. “Anyway, ’mano, I rigged up the walkies like I said I would, so that I’ll still be able to talk to you even from a distance. You won’t be able to answer back, but you should still be able to hear me if I call for you. Hopefully, it’ll help in a pinch. We’ll be on the road in the morning.”

“You and your lady get some rest, girl. Long road ahead.”

_

Sleep took a long time coming. Eva lay staring up at the ceiling, as Mal curled into her side, and could only think “By this time tomorrow, we’ll probably be…” She didn’t finish the thought, not because she was afraid of it, but because she wasn’t. Not really. Not anymore. There had been a time, not so long ago, when being dead had seemed like the worst possible outcome. But there were worse things. Case in point: zombies. Dead really wasn’t so bad.

The last few years with Mal had been a gift. Eva had never believed that she could love someone like this after the way she’d shut down when Mamá had died, but Mal and her weird ways had weaseled their way into her heart. Granted, they had also been years of pants-shitting terror, but that was on the vampires, and Carver, and the Patrons, and…

Anyway, people like Eva, they didn’t just get good shit handed to them without having to pay for it somehow. First it was just the running. Then, failing to stop Mal from losing her soul. Maybe…maybe this was gonna be the last payment. That was fair, right? For three years of love with Mal, and friendship with somanyothers that she never would have met otherwise? For three years of being more than just a mechanic and a thief? Totally fair.

“My mommy always said there were no monsters – no real ones – but there are, aren’t there?”

“Yes, there are.”

“Why do they tell little kids that?”

“Most of the time it’s true.”

Click The TV goes off as Wayne says “Sorry kid…it’s never true.” He turns back to packing, behind him, standing leaning against the wall, and as angry as he’s ever seen her stood Josie.

“You are a fucking idiot Wayne!”

“Look, I have to do this, I’ve tried explaining it to you several times. I can’t just quit!”

“Wayne Hodges! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She screams

He turns to look at her. As angry as she is, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’ve put in your time, you’ve fought the monsters, and you’ve saved the world! It’s time you let someone else do it for a change. This…” She points at a newspaper lying on the table with pictures of riots and news about what amounts to total chaos “…isn’t your fault, it ISN’T YOURFIGHTDAMNIT!”

“YES IT IS!” Wayne yells back, not in anger, but in frustration. Josie’s taken aback for a split second.

“Look Josie, I joined the contingent to try to make the world safe for those who haven’t been exposed to the supernatural, so they have a chance at a normal life. That’s gone with Skaar’s announcement, the whole world has been exposed to this shit, and like it or not, I have a hand in that. I have to make it right, I have to help these people, cause God knows they aren’t prepared to help themselves. Millions of people are going to die…” He turns away, back to his packing. “If I can save even ONE person, I have to try.”

“Make no mistake Wayne, if you leave, you are doing this for you, and you alone. You aren’t saving me, and there damn sure will be no us!”

“Josie, you know how I feel about you. I love you more than I’ve loved anything else in this world, on it or above it. And you know that’s unfair to ask, to give me that kind of ultimatum. But you knew my answer before you made it. Josie…I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Josie, in tears at hearing the answer she knew was coming, rushed over to Wayne and slapped him. She then started banging her fists on his chest, while crying “You son of a bitch!” Wayne just let her hit him, knowing how angry and scared she is, but also knowing she didn’t want to hurt him, just knock some sense into him.

After a few minutes, she settled down, and sat on the bed breathing heavily while Wayne finished packing. He picked up his suitcase, and Josie grabbed his arm, not wanting to let it go. “Please Wayne, Don’t go…”

“You know me well enough to know I have to go. I don’t know what’s going to happen, I would like to think that everything will turn out fine, but I just don’t know this time. No matter what happens, I love you.”

“Wayne, I”m serious, if you walk out that door, you are turning your back on me…on us. I can’t keep going on wondering if you are going to come back. It’s killing me. If you make it back, I won’t be here, I’ll be gone, and it’ll be your fault!” She said with determination, and sadness.

Carry On, My Wayward Sons & Daughters

The E-GaDs video feed shows a dark-skinned man in an impeccably-tailored charcoal suit seated behind a massive oak desk; his expression is taciturn and resolute. A circular wood-paneled wall partition in subtle ambient lighting curves around to frame the man and the desk. A crystal tumbler sits close at hand next to a bottle of 50-year Balvenie Scotch; papers and manila folders are scattered around a slimline desktop computer beside a low, green-shaded brass lamp. Elijah Sharpe’s eyes meet the lens of the camera, and he begins to speak.

“Good morning. Explosive allegations and accompanying evidence have been released to the media in recent weeks exposing a dark proposition for humanity: that the things we have learned to fear from mythology, ghost stories, faerie tales, and urban legends are all, to some extent, real.

“The Patrons’ machinations have resulted in tens of thousands of civilian deaths as documented by Contingent operatives in the reports I am about to disseminate to every press outlet I can contact. These reports will also be available for download at www.asi.net/monstersarereal/, and I’ve mirrored these files elsewhere in case someone attempts to lock down this information and keep it out of the public eye.

“I realize that this decision may not be the most prudent one for ASI given the security clearances that our work necessitates. That said, some things are far more important than profit. Working alongside myself, Trent Remington, Chester Clarke, and Dr. Adrian Skaar, the many brave people who have joined our cause have worked clandestinely against forces that seek to enslave, murder, or otherwise damage the whole of humanity.

“To some people, these confirmations of facts will amount to a confession on my part—and some people with a different agenda counter to our own will use this opportunity to brand us as domestic terrorists.

“Good. I want our enemies to be terrified. They ought to be terrified. The Contingent boasts personnel from among the best and brightest of our nation: seasoned combatants, brilliant scientific minds, engineers of unparalleled skill, and excellent negotiators. I am proud of each and every one of you, both those who have served in the past and are serving now—and especially those who have given their lives in service to our organization and the American people.

“To the members of the Contingent, I thank you all for your service. Each of you has been the candle in the darkness lighting the way for the lost, a voice for the voiceless crying out for help, a hunter keeping vigil through the long night—and some of you have done it for far longer than others. I know the duty weighs on you, and I wish I could tell you that it will be over soon, but the truth is that the work may never be done. Yet, with our agenda exposed—with the reality of the world unmasked—we are no longer alone. We are stronger than we ever have been before, because now the world knows the truth—and the true patriots among us now have the choice to step up and fight alongside us.

“In this dire hour of struggle, I ask you to consider this: in all my years as a hunter, I have yet to meet an enemy without a weakness. Nothing is unkillable, and few entities, if any, are truly immortal. Victory is never unattainable; it is merely a matter of using the resources and knowledge at hand in order to secure that victory.

“Today, every last man, woman, and child in America is the Contingent—and we will always fight to protect our own. With your continuing dedication and perseverance, we will prevail. Thank you, and may God bless America.”

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…. 2 hours and 36 minutes since my last confession.”

Father Franklin looked up, glancing toward the screened confessional window. “That’s quite recent, my son. Surely you haven’t sinned so much in such a short period of time?”

“It’s not so much recent, Father, as the amount. We all do things we don’t necessarily want to do. Sometimes we have to do things that are necessary, but immoral. Sometimes we enjoy them a bit too much.”

“Well, son, I’m listening.”

“Tell me, Father… have you heard of the Contingent?” The shadowed figure shifted behind the screen.

Franklin frowned, thinking. “These… supposed monster hunters, yes? The ones saying that there’s a battle coming and that they are fighting for us?”

“They aren’t “supposed”, Father, I should know. I’m one of them. And I can promise you, the monsters are out there. I’ve seen terrible things… horrors you couldn’t even imagine. And I’ve done terrible things to make sure much worse doesn’t happen to everyone in the world. I’ve killed people who were working for the monsters trying to control this world and everyone in it. I’ve killed vampires, and Fae. I’ve seen and talked to ghosts. I’ve fought… well, I guess you’d call them demons. It’s all real, Father, every word of it.”

Franklin thought for a moment. “My son, I’m not sure if these things are real or not. Obviously there is evil in the world, and it is our duty to stand against it… but if you’ve done these things you say, then all you need do is ask forgiveness to receive absolution.”

“I don’t need your absolution, Father. What I do must be done. What I need from you is to rally your congregation. The time has come, it’s here already. They need to hope, hope for the future of humanity, and stand united against the things that want to bring us down. They need to pray, pray for themselves and their neighbors, pray that we can end things decisively. They need to stand against the darkness, and resolve to slam the door in its stinking face. Tell your congregation. Tell your superiors. Spread the word.” The figure stood, moving toward the door.

“Wait my son, you must tell me more! Wait!” Franklin moved to the door, pushing it to no avail. An hour later, one of his parishioners found him trapped in the confessional, still yelling, a piece of wood lodged in the door.

South Mountain Eastbound Welcome Center, I-70

Charles sat in the driver’s seat of his Crown Vic, having a hasty lunch made from the rest stop’s vending machines.

“Okay, that’s the Catholics, Evangelicals, Greek Orthodox, Baptists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, and Pentecostals, plus every large non-denominational I could find. Maybe I’m wasting my damn time, but at least it’s something, if just one of them listens…” he trailed off.

Ding!

Charles picked up his phone, reading the text from Tamara Oliver. “Shit!” He revved the Vic, screeched out of the rest stop parking lot. If he hurried he might have time to stop by his weapons cache in Frederick. Might be a few things there that would be useful. He flipped the radio on, and music came from a station barely in tune…

Now my muscles start to rust, my thoughts are growing cold,
while Gabriel and Satan shoot craps for my soul….

Forest and Taz try to remember what they're talking about

“Hey, if you’re talking about Maman Minerva, she’s got a name, and it’s kind of rude to call her things like ‘babe’, Forest.”

“Whaa-, no dog! We were doing the thing from the movie!”

“What?”

“The movie thing! You know, man, the movie…with David Bowie and the muppets and shit, right?”

“What?”

“Ah jeez, Taz, you gotta see this. It’s like…a classic. Here, can you hold this and I’ll pull it up on screen.”

“What am I holding?”

“My pipe! This one’s my favorite. It, like, takes me places, man.”

“Why is there a little man floating in the pipe bowl?”

“Oh, sweet, he’s back! You see him, dog?”

“Nope, not anymore. Were you really just watching Zac’s ‘Night of the Chupacabra’?”

“Yeah, man, you’ve got to check out this one scene where the chupacabra flies down from like out of nowhere and bites a dude’s head clear off!”

“But chupacabras don’t have wings, Forest. At least, not the ones we fought last year.”

“Dude, what??”

“What?”

“You met a chupacabra?!”

“Oh yeah, we met them. As in they tried to take us apart, piece by piece. It was at the Zookeeper’s battle arena and holding cells, where we freed the Sphinx.”

“….cool.”

“What were we talking about again?”

“I dunno, man, something about vibrations and that crazy door in the astral plane. Also maybe David Bowie.”

“Yes! Forest, how are you at working with energy?”

“Energy, like vibes? Hell yeah, I got that finger magic, yo!”

“So, say we were trying to fight against that door in the collective unconsciousness being opened, overlapping this world with the underworld and doing terrible things to everyone.”

“Yeah, dude, everybody’s talking about it. The bad dudes are freaking out and trying to find a way to close it ”

“Yeah, so…wait, what?”

“What?”

“Which bad dudes?”

“Yooo, dude, shit, I just realized you don’t know anything about that. There’s like, so many factions I can’t keep track of all of them. But check it, see I’m talking about the secret masters of everything. Like, they try to define what truth even is. Well, not the ones I’ve met. Hah, yeah, I’m nowhere near cool enough to face like the boss monsters. I’m just facing the pawns. Or no, the bishops maybe. Pawns would be like you guys.”

“So we decided to try to fight the door opening by using the resonance of the music of the world, channeled through mediums that can focus and strengthen it, like the water or crystal caverns, things like that.”

“Oh yeeeaaah. Tapping into the music of the spheres sort of thing to bring about harmony.”

“Do you think you could help us? We need to try to push that door closed again. The Patrons are trying to bring in the underworld through different methods and portals in our world, like the collective consciousness and the waterways. We’re trying to save the world by turning their own methods against them, but this time with consent and while focusing on what makes us stronger together. We could really use your help keeping things from going too crazy, though. We’re in pretty deep waters with not much info on how to do what we’re trying to do. Can you help us figure out how to direct the vibrations, this heartbeat of the world, and focus it to close that door and lock it again? Maybe even pull out or destroy the key? Granger is also working some angles with dreamstate magic, helping people figure out how to close the door in their minds that got opened by the Patrons. If you can’t do the resonance, could you maybe help him with that?”

“…”

“I know, it’s crazy. It’s a lot to take in, too. Here, I have some of this stuff written down if that makes it easier to-“

“Nope, I’m down.”

“Really??”

“Hell yeah, man. Save the world through good vibes? I’m all over that shit!”

“Oh, man, Forest, that’s awesome! You’ll have the backing of all of us in the Contingent, and Empire, of course, and-”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who’s that?”

“The Contingent? The Empire Foundation? The people you work for?”

“What?”

“…”

“Oh hey! Labyrinth! Taz, you’ve got to see this movie, man! Tell me about these Contingent and Empire dudes while we watch this, though you can’t talk over the songs, ok? These are, like, the best songs.”

(TEXT TO GRANGERSIMMS: “Forest is down, but has no idea what I’m talking about aside from some really scary and important things I don’t understand yet. This may take a while. Also, was David Bowie supposed to be part of our plans? I can’t remember now.”)

Donnie Fitzgerald stepped out onto the sidewalk, the humid summer air almost suffocating. They would be there any minute. He’d been working every other day since they started, but today was Saturday, and Saturday was Donnie’s day off.

It was cloudy today. Donnie counted himself lucky that he wouldn’t be in the beating down sun all afternoon.

As he started walking toward the corner, he heard them. It was like a low honking noise on the other end of the neighborhood.

“Right on time.” He said as he stepped past the corner shop and onto Elysian Fields Avenue.

Every day, for the past nine days, parades had been starting up at 3:00pm on the dot, all over the city of New Orleans. Ten of them each day. Six would take the same route, like the one approaching Donnie. The other four snaked through the city, changing path each day. They were lead by the hired Second Line, with no other indication of who had arranged them. But there they were, every day, beckoning the people along their paths to join in, jump into the line, and become their own parade.

The six main routes came down Elysian Fields Avenue, St. Bernard Avenue, Canal Street, Earhart Boulevard, St. Charles Avenue, and Tchoupitoulas Street. They converged at the French Quarter at about seven o’clock, at which point, the Second Lines would spread out and the entire quarter was filled with music. Classic music from the first days of jazz in the Mississippi Delta. Every other street would have its parade. They criss-crossed paths, converging and splitting up until they all stood at Jackson Square. As the sky shone Purple and gold, they stood on the green grass of the square and let the bells of St. Louis Cathedral count them in at eight o’clock on the money.

It was a cacophony of sound, reverberating through the square as they would turn and move to Artillery Park, where a massive replica of Our Lady of Prompt Succor had been erected ten days before. There, they played to the Lady and to the River and to the sky and to the land beneath their feet. The air buzzed with the sounds of brass bands blaring, children laughing, and people singing. The ground shook as they danced. The waters rippled from the waves of horns and the beat of drums. Sunbeams struck the instruments and lit the square with the light of joy. Over the past ten days, one hundred parades had resulted in hundreds of thousands of people from around the city and surrounding areas to come and stand together, to dance together, to laugh and sing together, to pray together.

This would be the last night, and it was a night of celebration. A celebration of life, of love, and of hope.

Whim and Taz search for common ground

The old well was a mossy, crumbling pile of fieldstones left over from the halcyon days of the Rourke estate, now taking up a small corner on the edge of the Hill Valley artist’s enclave with the encroaching forest just started to enfold it, with vines and saplings weaving their tendrils through the nooks and crannies. Taz always liked to hang out there, peering into the shadowed well to catch a glimmer of the light reflecting on the water below. The nearby artists would frequently lug their easels and canvases, or sketch pads and charcoals, or wood blocks, or chunks of clay, or whatever their preferred medium was, in an attempt to capture its eerie peacefulness that somehow seemed to still speak of potentialities, mysteries, adventures to be had in the world. If Taz was hanging out there, they’d include her in the work: a strange, thin, tumbleweed of a woman who breathed and looked about as though she wasn’t quite sure which world she was in at any given moment. The well and Taz seemed to get along.

It was to that well that Taz went before her first mission to New Orleans, flipping a coin into its depths and quietly calling out Whim’s name. “I need to leave for a while, but will you be here when I return? Please, Whim. It’s important.” She had waited, and, failing to hear the coin hit the water, she nodded her thanks and headed to the bayou and the horrors that awaited there.

Now back in Hill Valley and no longer screaming in her sleep from the visions of thousands of people carefully, lovingly sewing themselves into a tower of flesh and madness, a vision that held shreds of the memory of her own temptation to join them, to finally find her perfect spot in the world in that beautiful tower, Taz made her way back to the well. She gazed at it with eyes that were a little more weary and thoughtful, picking out a good spot to…there it is. Her crafter’s eye found the safest place to rest and that’s where she went, straddling the green grass on one side and the foreboding, enticing plunge to the well’s depths on the other. Another coin, another silence. Taz closed her eyes and began speaking.

“Hey Whim. Thanks for coming. I’m…well, things are getting pretty heavy. Guessing I don’t have to tell you what’s been going on, from what I can remember you probably knew way more before any of us. Thing is, I’m not even sure how involved I’ve been in any of this. Something is telling me that it’s more than I’d like to know, but a holy man recently told me that if I can figure that out, I can stop things from getting worse, at least. He talked about atonement, and being free from guilt. I don’t think that’s going to happen, and to be honest, it doesn’t much matter. What matters are people, all people. This world and the good it tries to strive for in spite of all the shit. Maybe the Patrons are right and we’re all under some other thing’s control. But assaulting and exploiting millions of people, tearing apart the land, driving innocents to madness and suffering, committing mass murder…no. You don’t win freedom for people by slaughtering and using them like sheep, no matter how you call yourselves liberators. You win control. And anyone willing to do what they’ve done just to get there…

“I need your help. That door the Patrons opened. We need to close it, and soon. We’re going to try to protect the earth with anchor points of the collective consciousness: all the hopes and prayers of the world shielding it from the onslaught of afterlife. And we’re trying to use the resonance, the rhythm of the world to close that door. It’s crazy, and idealistic, I know. But they hurt us so badly by using our own traits against us, and we were so short-sighted and foolish. I’m going to guess something. I’m going to guess that you don’t necessarily want that door closed, right? Because a bokor in Louisiana explained something to us about the old magic that’s been coming back into the world through it, waking up that magic in folks around the world. Doing what you were willing to risk people’s lives and sanity for, to give people the opportunity to live up to their potential, right?”

Eyes still shut, Taz reached down and took something out of the pack nestled by her feet. A strange, dull metal contraption, covered with odd ridges and switches, appeared in her hands and she blindly began making adjustments, fingers roaming over its surface with practiced ease. A low hum filled the air, and the object – a cube? A globe? – glowed softly, its light almost unnoticeable in the late afternoon sun.

“I love creating things. No joy in the world quite compares to that moment when you’ve built something that solves the problem in just the right way, or hell, doesn’t even solve any problems but somehow adds to the world just in its sheer interestingness, you know? At least, I used to think that. Nothing could compare to the moment of realizing your potential. It felt right. Just as right as that fucking tower. Thing is, we all have potential. What happens when we decide to realize that without any care toward anyone else? Anything else? Because we’re so wrapped up in our own selves that we can justify anything, rationalize any damage because doing what we feel we were made to do just feels so damn right, so how can it be bad? I think the Patrons are kind of like that. They want what they want, they’re convinced they’re right, and they’re willing to kill and destroy and manipulate and hurt…everyone.

“I remember when I saw the place they took you, you and the other kidnapped children, out in Minnesota. That old sewer with the locked rooms, the drawing on the walls, the cells. What they did to you is unforgivable. They turned you into a mage, but do you really think what they did was the way to do it? Deep down? Do you really want to allow people in power to hurt and experiment on others like that again? Whim, magic is back. The door did that much, and there are people all over the world trying to grasp at an understanding of something inside them that maybe they never knew they had, or were missing. If that door stays open, a whole lot of ugly is going to hit us, too, and those people are going to die screaming, maybe insane, maybe taken and used. And this wide green world is going to crack under the weight of that pain.”

Taz released the gadget from her hands and it hung in the air, methodically scanning the area.

“It’s searching for those nanites created by the Patrons. I finally got enough info to at least try to detect them before they infect others. Too late for a lot of people, including myself, but hopefully it’ll benefit others.”

“Help us close that door. There’s so much potential already unlocked, and we can work together to help develop it in a better way. We can bring back the mage school, but not as one place that can be targeted, or even overly controlled, but a network of mentors and apprentices all over the world, supported and protected. I talked with Dr. Skaar and The Empire Foundation is willing to do this with you. You know their transparency and what they’re fighting for, so no back deals or backstabbing. What you can do, nobody else can. You can help people find their way in a world that has become something frighteningly new. And you can help us close that door before it destroys all the potential inside us.”

A soft rustle of downed leaves, a nearly silent outtake of breath. Taz opened her eyes and turned toward her companion. They stood quietly, searching each other’s eyes for understanding. Whim took out a familiar coin and flipped it in the air, catching it neatly and slapping it on the back of her other hand. She glanced at its face. Then she reached out and took Taz’s hand, pulling her up from the edge of the well.

“I have a few ideas. Let’s take a walk.”

As they turned toward the forest, the odd gray scanner floating behind them cast its beam over Taz’s back and began to beep urgently, its warning light still barely noticeable in that late afternoon sun.

Frogs chirp outside a small ranch house as the rain patters down on the roof shingles. Inside, a family sits in their living room, faces tense, staring at their TV as it fades from commercial back to the nightly news. The anchor’s somber voice cuts the silence.

“Good evening. We’re continuing our top story. As the Denver Riots are reaching day two, the federal government has issued mandatory curfews in several major cities, and is deploying the National Guard to attempt to take control of a scene being described as chaos. As many of you are aware, in the wake of the revelation that a group of werewolves were located somewhere in the Colorado region, thousands of protesters descended on Denver. One set of protesters, speaking out against the use of government forces against American citizens who were seemingly defending the local community, clashed with another group who saw the wolves as an abomination, carrying signs saying “man shall not lie with beast.” Nine people are dead and the violence still has no end in sight. When reached for a comment, the Governor of Colorado had this to say…”

The sound of the garbage bin outside being knocked over springs the family to their feet. Recently-installed floodlights blast their yard. After a long moment where nothing moved, the lights flick off. Unsettled, the family sits back down, occasionally glancing at the window.

“In other news, the FBI raided the Empire Foundation’s Manhattan office this morning, citing ethics violations and a threat to national security. Spontaneous demonstrations erupted that were dispersed with tear gas. Fourteen people were rushed to the hospital, but no one was seriously wounded. Dr. Adrian Skaar is wanted for questioning.

“Although the Empire Foundation’s tours of the supernatural have been shut down, you can still go to our website and watch the video where our very own Bruce Berman entered the labs. Berman will join us after the break to discuss what he saw”

Leanna stepped out of the supply closet of Granger’s Own and into the garage proper. The pleasant Colorado air gave way to the oppressive summer heat of South Carolina.

“Uuuuuugh. Summer. The worst.” she exaggeratedly muttered to herself as she closed the door.

She started sneaking towards the main office where Granger was probably fiddling with something or another. Maybe he was hanging with Mike? She liked Mike. He always had the nicest things to say about her and her cookies.

She crouched down as she approached the office window, gently set down her tin of baked goods, and slowly rose up to peer in. Granger was in there. Elbows on the desk and his forehead resting in his palms. His dirty blonde hair pulled between his closed fingers. He was trying to figure something out. Something important.

He looked up and sniffed the air. A smile spread across his face.

“Hey Lee. Come out come out wherever you are.”

She ran in and pounced him planting a big ole kiss on that smile. He kissed her back and then pulled away with a serious expression.

“Real talk. Before you get all Springy on me,” he said as he pushed her back gently.

She crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. “Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

“What!? No! What?”

“What?” She unfolded her arms and backed away slightly embarrassed.

“Why would I do that?”

“Dude I dunno! You’re the one being all ‘Real talk’,” she said in a mocking deep voice.

“Jeeeesus, woman. No. The end of the world is waiting to smack us in the face, and I need to ask you something important before it does.”

“OH MY GOD are you proposing!?” Her eyes widened as she brought her hands up to her face covering her nose and mouth.

“Holy…what? Are you kidding me right now? Would you just let me talk?”

Leanna grumpily walked over to a chair and plunked down. “Fine. Talk, South Paw.”

“Ok. Wow. So. Remember how last winter you were telling me about dream magic? How you and other Folk can walk from dream to dream. Something about them being all connected. All dreams over all times.”

“Yeah dude. I remember. How do you though? You were so baked…”

“Oh I dunno? I guess being told there was this vast interconnected network of all of humanity’s dreams was the kind of thing that stuck with me. It’s kind of a big deal, Lee!”

“Point.”

“Any way. I’ve been thinking about the door that the Patrons unlocked. A door into the collective consciousness of humanity. We’re trying to shut it. Pushing it from this end. Taz has been working on some intense stuff but what if we helped by pulling it from the other end? What if the collective consciousness of humanity pulled the door shut while we pushed? A sort of fail safe.”

“Go on…”

“Is it possible, for you or anyone you know to help people dream of shutting that door? All the people. Ever. They’ve all been told by now the reality of their world. Its some heavy stuff. And they’re probably dreaming about it. It shouldn’t be that hard to focus those dreams, right? Ugh…I don’t…I don’t know anything about how this works…but…”

“Granger. Shut up. Listen to me. Let’s say you had the power to make deals, right? With like elements of reality. Like lets say you and Electricity made a deal. And you could summon it. Be protected from it. All that stuff.”

“Sounds pretty cool.”

“It is. But let’s say some dudes did a thing and made that power stronger. But the thing that person did would hurt everyone else in a bad way.”

“I’d find a way to stop them even if the power went away.”

“I know you would, man. And that’s why I love you. But not everyone would. Me and mine…we can jump around in dreams so much better right now. It’s like whatever the Patrons did with that door made all of us invincible in there. It used to be dangerous to go from dream to dream, but now we can run around like it’s an open field. We can shape things and make safe places. We can quell nightmares, man. Its insane. And amazing.”

“But everyone is going to die, Lee. There won’t be any new dreams to run around in.”

Leanna got up from her chair and walked over to Granger as she spoke.

“I know, man. I know. But what if there was a way to stop the Patrons but keep the door open? I mean the door being open isn’t bad. It’s just being used to do a super bad thing. Like woah bad.”

“Ok. Let’s follow that thought to conclusion then. We stop the Patrons’ plans somehow. The door stays open. You and the other Folk get free reign of the dreams and your powers are stronger forever. Can you promise me that that door won’t be used as a way to hurt humanity again? Can you promise me that someone running through that open field of dreams won’t do something evil? That humanity won’t be manipulated or damaged through their dreams?”

“Granger. Dude. Come on. There would be plenty of us who would defend that place from anyone who would try something like that. We’d keep it safe, just like you and the Contingent keep the real world safe.”

“These are people’s dreams though, Lee. Deeply personal things that, sure, can be nudged to inspire greatness. And that’s a great thing. A good thing. I can support that one hundred percent. But they can also be shattered just as easily. Hopes and dreams and aspirations torn asunder by some ass hole on a power trip. Or even worse, as collateral damage because you tried to save the world.”

“I know first hand the cost of war, Lee. I payed it. I made bystanders pay that cost too when I couldn’t disarm that bomb. I made that little girl pay that cost when I tried to teach her dad a lesson when I saw him beat her and her mom and I couldn’t stop him any other way. Do you want to play that kind of dangerous game with something as sacrosanct as dreams? What could ever be an acceptable loss when it comes to dreams, Lee? Could you pay that cost?”

“Alright. Alright. Damn. Good points all around. Now I just sound like a little girl who wants to keep playing with her new toy. That’s one way to end a high. Jeeze.”

Leanna bit at her bottom lip, bounced up and down nervously and then sighed as she came to a hard decision.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll help. And there’s lots more Folk that want to help I’m guessing. This is our world too, man. We fought tooth and nail and endured more than you can imagine to get back here. And we’ll help defend it. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t dudes that’ll try to have their cake and eat it too. Or even fight you on this. If we’re going to do this I need you to Promise that you’re in this to the end and you and your people are going to do everything possible to set things right or I swear by my name there will be hell to pay.”

Granger paused as he was about to agree.

“Is this going to make it harder for you guys to hide? From…you know…”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, dude. One Earth shattering scenario at a time, please.”

“Ok, then. I promise, Lee. The Contingent and I are in this to the end…one way or another.”

“Good. Then so am I,” she said with a heavy sigh and sealed the Promise with a kiss.

The last time Tamara Oliver had wandered into the Tulgey Wood, it had been a stiflingly hot and oppressive place, filled with the sounds of unnatural beasts prowling the underbrush. Now, it was cool and dark, and dimly lit with the brightness of a swollen full moon peeking through the blue-leaved treetops overhead. Before she had felt only anger and what she had thought was righteousness but now realized in retrospect to be self-loathing, a side effect of the psyche-fracturing virus that the Patron of the Thorn had injected into ASI’s dream matrix. This time she felt confident, self-assured, aware of her inner self-righteousness—and determined never to let it get the best of her again.

But why am I here? she thought. This is more than a dream. It’s exactly like the woods in Ken’s matrix. Tamara didn’t dream often, and rarely remembered them when she did have them. Usually they were about high school, or being stuck in airports—boring stuff by most standards.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” said a smarmy voice from somewhere above Tamara. “You’re the last one to arrive, you know. The meeting is due to begin shortly. You’ll need to get there quickly.”

Tamara’s head snapped upward as she searched for the source of the voice—a long-haired panther-sized cat with white and silver tufts of fur and wide green-yellow eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked.

The cat chuckled. “You humans are so crude nowadays. No manners anymore. I much preferred people in the Victorian era, you know. So prim—eager to bow and curtsy as they ought.”

Tamara pulled a pistol from her side, only half-wondering how it had gotten there, and cocked the hammer as she aimed at the cat. “What do you want with me? What’s this ‘meeting’ about?”

“Keeping our worlds from crashing together—if you can see your way to helping out with that, that is.” From the woods behind Tamara, a low-thundering series of footsteps accompanied by a bestial snuffle sounded, and a bandersnatch stepped out.

It licked her cheek rather adorably.

“There’s no saddle, but you’ll make do, I presume,” the cat continued in a laboriously blase tone, its body fading into the darkness before its eyes and mouth did. “Follow the path out of the woods and toward the door.”

“What door?” Tamara’s eyes narrowed; she’d read the internal communiques at both ASI and the NSA detailing what had happened in the Triangle.

“Oh, the one that everything else is running away from, I’d expect.”

The bandersnatch bounded over chessboard patches of grass sod toward the glowing nimbus on the horizon; trickles of momeraths scampered past them, some squelching under the beast’s paws. At one point, Tamara glimpsed a herd—a herd, really?!—of rabbits on the horizon and yanked the bandersnatch’s mane to keep it from trampling the terrified creatures.

It wasn’t until the rabbits had passed, and the dust left in their wake had settled, that she realized what they were running from. The landscape ahead was markedly different from the fantastical surroundings Tamara had ridden through to get here. It looked like a modular continent floating in empty ash-colored sky: pieces of twisted reality ripped asunder and thrown together haphazardly. Here, a desert littered with doll parts; there, a replica of St. Peter’s Square in blood-red marble dotted with statues of horribly-mutilated people; elsewhere, a swampy forest where dark shapes stalked the barren moss-draped trees. New areas were being constantly added to the horrid landscape, stretching out impossibly far toward the horizon—toward a massive glowing iron door.

The bandersnatch leapt from island to island across the network of sinister places, finally stopping on an island of grassy earth that seemed markedly out of place. Atop the island, Tamara could see a few dozen people standing, staring out into the gray toward the great door. She recognized a few people she’d worked with previously in some capacity or another at ASI: Lourdes Lopez, the dreamseer who’d gotten stuck in the dream matrix with her, and Karen Sugimoto, another psychic Tamara had shown around the ASI Washington headquarters. Many of those present whom she didn’t know personally she still recognized from reading their internal dossiers.

One in particular stood out, though. “I thought you were retired,” she snapped as she dismounted the bandersnatch next to a bearded, dark-haired man in jeans and a ‘King In The North’ t-shirt.

“So did I,” Aaron Mathias responded, kicking a rock with the toe of his Chuck Taylors absentmindedly. “Turns out you can resign from ASI and quit being a hunter, but being a dreamseer isn’t exactly a position with an exit interview.”

“I take it you’re the one who sent the cat. Did you call all these people here? Hell, for that matter, why the hell can I even see this?”

“Sombellatrol exposure,” Aaron explained. “Dr. Cunningham mentioned that it might have some side effects in people with extranormal cognitive talents, but we never saw any in the trials I participated in at ASI. Your reaction to the Usturanol was the first major incident Ken ever documented. Anyway, yeah—you can project into this world now, like us, although it’s…not as safe for you.”

Tamar frowned, resting her hand on her hip. “What’s your angle, Mathias? And how I do I get out of here?”

“Oh, you’ll wake up eventually. We all do. Well, we have so far anyway. Now, if that door opens, that may not be the case.” Aaron turned to face the door, squinting into the distance. “I can’t even keep the one the Fae implanted in my mind closed anymore. Not since the shit that went down in North Carolina a few weeks ago. And I end up standing near this thing every time I go to sleep now. All the dreamseers do. We’ve been discussing it for a few weeks…but it’s gotten worse. Other people are seeing it, too. Normal people—Eva Jimenez and a couple other hunters who worked with her in New Orleans have called me to ask about it. That’s what all these new islands of reality out here are: Nightmares, Tamara. The nightmares of all of humanity, and this door is using them like building blocks to construct a bridge through the Dreamlands.”

“So this thing is now projecting fully into the collective consciousness?” Tamara shuddered at the implications of that.

“Yep. What’s worse is, this reality can’t withstand the weight of it all. Eventually, it’s going to collapse into ours. And that’s not all. Sometimes, it—” The booming sound of a knock from the other side of the door stopped Aaron mid-sentence. The door shook on its hinges. Darkness and blood seeped out from beneath it; a flash of fire ringed the outline of the door in its frame for a split second before it settled back into position. As it did so, more islands popped into existence around them, bridging the gap in the gray between the nightmare realms and the door; the shadow and blood coalesced into tangible forms in the grey and leapt toward the islands, seeking cover on their surfaces like lurking beasts . “—does that.”

“Fuck me,” Tamara exclaimed. “Have you figured out a way to stop it?”

“Nope,” Aaron responded, “but we can sure as hell guard it. And we can kill anything that gets out. But we need your help, and the help of people like you—or folks like Miles Jaggens. Get Ken to dispense the rest of his Sombellatrol supply to them. If they all dose up, we can bring them here…and give humanity something new to believe in.”

“You’re talking about macroneural projection,” Tamara said, realizing what Aaron had in mind. “Every telepath we can find beaming a signal back into humanity to counteract the effect the door has on their collective psyche.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Adrian Skaar’s decision to go public, and Harry McCoy’s release of the Secret Frequency’s archives on E-GaDS, has informed people—they’ve revealed to the entire world a real idea of what we’re fighting against for the very first time. It’s also opened everyone’s minds to perceiving new layers of reality. The Patrons will exploit that. So we’ve gotta push back.”

“Alright,” Tamara said. “I’m in. But what sort of vision do you need me to project?”

“This.” Aaron glanced over her shoulder at Lourdes and Karen, and nodded, then closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing in deeply. The air around them shimmered, and their forms contorted, their shapes drastically altering within the span of mere seconds.

All around Tamara, the gathered dreamseers began to change forms, their dream avatars forming a vanguard before the door—some animals or armored knights, others mythical beasts or clockwork war machines that nearly defied description. Where Karen had stood, there was now a golden heron as tall as a horse. Lourdes’ body coiled as it morphed, becoming a rainbow serpent with feathered wings. Aaron, too, changed.

His avatar had no eyes. A gaping hole peered from its humanoid face, its head haloed in gossamer webs of spidersilk and wreathed in barbed chains. A serene mouth smiled peacefully beneath the maw, contrasting in a beautifully terrifying fashion with the violent pose the winged figure struck. Shining metal plates lined its body, and it held a short blade of silver in both of its slender hands, each maybe eighteen inches long.

It turned to Tamara and spoke in a hollow tenor; Aaron’s voice echoed faintly behind it. “Gather the telepaths, Tamara, and bring them here, every night. Get them to tell the world our story. Give them all a dream to help beat back the nightmares.”

Then the winged figure raised its blades, and the dreamseers took flight, diving toward the islands to begin their hunt.

Storyteller: Justin

“Well, things are going to Hell in a handbasket, quick. After what we learned in the Triangle, we’re more aggressively following some persons of interest. One such person is a man named Edgar Rideau. He was associated with some of those folks at Six Flags and fled into the bayou last month. One of our own, Adah Épiphanie, has been following since then. Three weeks ago, word from her completely stopped. A week later, as quickly as it had stopped, it started again saying that everything was fine, she just needed some more time. We sent this on up to our Empire Foundation folks for analysis and they came back with one conclusion, ‘Compromised.’

“Adah is as loyal as they come, and for her to be compromised is some bad business. I need some experienced folks to get in here, rescue her, find out what the hell is going on, and take care of whatever business is brewing.“

-Chris McMillian

Hunters

Storyteller: Cathy

Whatever Stella let loose on the Bay Area appears to be escalating. Gina is reporting seeing lost souls all over the city. There has been a dramatic increase in the strength and frequency of earthquakes in the area. Empire Foundation scientists have been unable to find a natural cause for this spike in activity. The Union has had its handful trying to track Stella down. Our only lead is that her mute employee, Claudia, was seen coming and going into the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. According to the local news, a new room was recently discovered in the house after one of the recent quakes. This cannot be a coincidence. We need to get a team into that house and find out what Stella is doing there.

Hunters

Storyteller: Johnathan

“Once the business in the Triangle came to light, me and the rest of the Union rolled pretty heavy on all of Jillian Mosaddegh’s haunts and hideouts just as quick as the phone could ring. A bunch of made-up shit, gas leaks, city planning, whatever. We never did catch her, she’s a slippery bitch.”

“Anyway, we found a real motherfucking mess out in Alexandria, right near where y’all grabbed that weird hooker last year. Listen, it’s not easy to explain, but the Contingent needs to send some people knowing about Dr. Von Hamner and they need to get here yesterday. There’s some messed up stuff down in the basement, and best Dr. Sandoval can figure out, it’s mixed up with Von Hamner’s past.”

- Bert Warner

Hunters

Quintin Hollensworth

Quintin was running out of time. The portal back would be closing soon, the beetle bridges were starting to waken and writhe, and he only had one flare left.
He waited, hearing the clicks and screams of the Albino Skeletons as they followed the trail of flares leading to him.
He waited.
He watched as every step of the translucent skeletal guardians drained the soil of all color, filling the air with an acrid stench akin to burnt rubber. Beyond this terrible field was his oldest friend, somewhere within the tiered structure that the locals had called ‘The Temple of Outside’.
The temple began to shift and dance. His walkie crackled on “….r me? I said, I got it. Hope my path is clear!” A beam of rage shot from the temple’s peak, evaporating several Warbling Wraiths before disappearing into the sea above.
There! Cuthwright was visible for just a moment, falling through a fluid doorway then stumbling between feathered huts.
Quintin fired the flare.

Quintin now had a three-day hike through the mountain snow to return to base camp. Cuthwright’s final words crowded his thoughts, “This is how it was always going to be. Make sure that doctor of yours puts this horrible thing to good use!”
The ‘horrible thing’, held within a specially crafted capsule, lay on a sled pulled behind him. Even contained, its influence was still enough to turn the snow nearby into a kind of black rust. When the strange device, composed of bone and sinew, was collected it had jerked, momentarily brushing against Cuthwright’s leg. By the time Cuthwright had gotten back to the portal, his skin had become crystalline and begun to crack.
Quintin has never minded that most people never believe his stories, even within the Contingent. One of the few that has listened, has been Dr. Skaar. Skaar had taken to funding Quintin’s expeditions in search of artifacts. His only requirements being, the artifact for study, meticulous notes of everything encountered, and an in depth interview after each one. He had never considered, or cared, if these notes or interviews were made public.
Now though, he knew he needed to tell the other part of the stories, he needed to tell of those that had sacrificed so much, those he had lost.

Freight Car Flo slowly braked the electric powered velocipede. She unwrapped the olive shemagh from her muscular face, and then pulled the vintage riding goggles to her forehead. Squinting to check the horizon away from the sea for railroad bulls and other interlopers just doing their job she addressed Virgil Half-Dollar and Happy Harry waiting by the blue pickup. “Virgil you old bum, nice to see you’re still standing on just two feet, what do you have for us”?

Virgil brow lifted and a smile crossed his face. The expression caused a twitch of pain moving the healing skin from the fire on the other side of the door at Chapel Hill. “Carrots mostly, but there is a good mix of needs and wants. Turkey too, make sure the eat that first. By the by good to see you too, I think you know Happy Harry. He’s still an angel, working out of Glad Tidings now.”

Harry also smiled at Flo and held his right hand up with the thumb pointing left. “Good to see you again, how are Abel and the boys? How’s the camp?”

Flo reached down, grazing the sidearm on her hip, gaining reassurance from its presence. “They’re scared, everybody is scared. Folks have a right to be, not everything you see on T.V. is a special effect. Camp is growing bigger too. That’s not a bad thing, it makes it easier to keep an eye on everyone with more folks in the jungle. The census is easier, and everyone gets a buddy. Attacks are up, things that used to be content hiding in the shadows are quickly changing their habits. We could use some extra hands shoring up shacks if you and your friends are done poking the bears.”

Harry nodded with understanding and empathy. “Roger that, its scary but the world has always been cutty. My take away is that there are people doing good and lookout for each other. The Contingent has saved lives, saved souls. They are making a difference by being brave. We can be brave too.” Harry looks at Virgil. “Whats the plan?”

Virgil pondered for a moment holding his trembling right hand to his face. “There’s a darkness crawling its way into all of us. I know I helped it crack the door just hair. If it wasn’t for the contingent, the world would’ve fallen into the sky on the spot or worse. Wheels are in motion”.

Virgil’s hand gets more steady. “Tell everyone when it comes, that’s a train we all need to hop on. Listen for the whistle, and when the call comes out to help, do your share. The plan is to get everyone to focus on the door, and get it closed. I say take it a step further. I’ve been thinking a lot about souls. The making of a hobo. Boogeymen are real. Angels and Demons are real and with that all gunk in between. The trespassing darkness is part of them. Closing the door isn’t enough. We need to make sure it never comes back by making the collective bindle of humanity uninhabitable by things that don’t belong there. Demons and Angels got no soul. Their existence is defined by their purpose to God, Gods, or the Line. They either accept or reject it but that’s all they can ever be. We define ourselves, what we could be. What we could be five minutes ago, doesn’t have to define what we can be five minutes from now. When the call comes hold on to what you love about the world. The people, the music, the food, funny critters, camp fires, moonshine, and ducks on the pond. When something nasty sticks its head out, take your shovel, or your wrench, or your tire iron and beat it down. If some dandy makes you think you were bargained. Make a fist as tight as you can, the way that feels is you belonging to you. If a black mountain rises up and eats the stars cast your eyes on the eastern sky and yell at the sun. I’ve got to much to love to to love today so rise up already rise up.” Virgil looked down feeling something wet and cold wash over his boots.

The yard was quickly becoming flooded with milk. Virgil and Harry both looked at a leaking milk car on the train parked a few feet away. Something had bored a hole making a source for the pasteurized waves.

Sharp claws ripped into Harry, who collapsed under the burning pain. Virgil grabbed a discarded e-clip setter, swinging it hard at the creature’s head. “Get off my friend”. The creature reared up, enraged by the blow. Virgil’s sanity tried to defend itself by compartmentalizing its features. “Looks kinda like a salamander, check, 8 feet tall but there a rules about salamanders. Claws like a tiger, still not a lamb, check. Horns coming from a diamond shaped mouth, that’s just weird?”

Chit Chit Boom! Plop, Splash.

Flo’s gun thundered once. The creature was now face down in a mix of blood and milk. She cocked the hammer of the revolver. “Harry, you okay?”

Harry winced and grabbed the next box off the truck. “Just fine Flo, now I remember why I don’t drink Bakersfield.”

Flo addressed Virgil. “Camp to camp, hostel to jungle we are waiting for the call. Tell the Contingent when they need help we are ready to answer the call.”

Virgil answered back “thank you”. They trio exchanged solemn glances.

Sirens began sounding in the distance.

Flo started up the steam pump on the velocipede and lowered her goggles. “Boys try not to die, we need help putting up shingles next week”.

Most of the supplies loaded the rail-car carted off.

Virgil lowered his hat. “Any ideas about what to say to the bulls?

Harry put his hand on his torn side, and replied “I find leading with I might not sue if, often gets the conversation to a happy place pretty quickly”.

Static briefly fills the airwaves. Radios go silent. Televisions blink. Computers lag. All at once, the silence stops as audio and video come to life, showing a young man dressed in a black t-shirt, grey jacket laid across his lap, and dark blue jeans, sitting on the edge of a couch, a glass of whiskey and ice sits on a coffee table, just at the edge of the frame.

He leans slightly forward and clasps his hands in front of himself loosely. Calmly, but firmly, he speaks

“Good morning. My name is Darren Knox. And this is the most important message you will hear, ever.

I am a member and a representative of a group that calls itself “The Contingent”. Some of you have heard of of us. Most of you have not. Those that have have likely been seen as conspiracy theorists. Well today is the day that you find out that it was no conspiracy. We are real. We are here. Today, you will all know us more than we ever intended or than you ever expected.

For those of you that have not heard of us before, I will give you a little background on the world you live in and then what we at the Contingent do to protect you from that world.

First, we humans are not alone in this world. As Adrian Skaar has made you all aware, you have shared a world with supernatural creatures for as long as humans have walked the earth. Most of them are willing to coexist with humanity. Many live their lives just like all of you. They may be your friends, neighbors, family. However, there are those that have been unwilling to coexist and have sought to do damage to humanity. They are the reason that groups like ours exist. It is our mission to protect humanity, as best we can, from these threats.

This was best done in secret. Until now.

Let me be perfectly clear. This is not a call to arms against them. Please do not take it as such. Your likelihood of being negatively impacted by these beings is no greater now than it was yesterday, or a year ago, or a decade ago. However, a threat has emerged that is stronger than all of your armies and it cannot be solved with a bullet. This threat does not seek to take your lives. It does not seek to take your freedom. It seeks to take your consciousness, your very existence. We will not let this happen."

Darren takes a brief pause, clearly trying to steel his emotions.

“My parents, Jeremy and Caroline Knox were part of this group as well. They gave their lives to protect humanity, to protect me, to protect you.”

His voice cracks before pausing again to collect himself.

“They never told me what they did, or who they worked with, or what they fought against. But now that I am a part of The Contingent, I know. I have seen the horrors that lie in wait. I have also seen the beauty of what can happen when we are of one mindset and one goal.”

Darren takes a deep breath before continuing.

“So again, this is not a call to arms. We do not ask for you to join us on the field of battle. We do not ask that you give your lives. We do not ask that you take on the burdens that we have taken on. We ask that you, all of you, as one collective consciousness, is to simply have hope. So take a moment to, from time to time, hope.”

His voice softens.,

“Hope for the good in the world to prevail. Pray. Pray for your loved ones. Meditate. Meditate on your mere existence and instill your belief in yourself and the world around you. Believe. Believe in your fellow man. Love, passionately. Whatever your method may be, we need you to focus that energy toward the things that are most important to you.”

“This is not a call to arms because we need everyone. We need every being to help us. If you can dream; if you can hope; if you can care, then you can help.” Darren pleads.

Darren clinches his hands tighter and closes his eyes for a moment, a look of concern on his face, before continuing in an almost rallying tone.

“We cannot ask you to fight. We will not ask you to fight. We will fight for you. We will fight for all of humanity. We will throw our bodies and minds, again and again, against the steel of the abyss. Some of us will die. Some of us will suffer far worse. But we will fight, and we will not stop until we have vanquished this threat.”

“I have seen what the hope of a small group, numbering maybe a hundred strong, who just want to make the world safe for humanity, can do. With you, we are seven billion strong. With you, we are the unstoppable force and the immovable object. With you, we are victorious.”

Darrens voice softens again.

“So today, tomorrow, and every day going forward, we need you to know that we are fighting for you.

Together, we can achieve unimaginable greatness.

Take care of yourselves, and we will do the same.

Thank you. Thank you so much."

Darren reaches forward and turns off the camera, the audio clicking back to silence. After a few moments, you are returned to your regularly scheduled programming.

Well, first we’ve got a couple of mages, Whim and Forrest. They can be confusing as hell when you try to talk to them, but they’re honest allies.

Whim is the one I’ve known the longest; she’s one of the kids that got taken and fucked up by Project Chimera, so now she’s got the ability to alter Fate. She’s always been a friend to me, and she’s helped us find out needed information on what the bad guys are doing, but she’s pretty ruthless in her methods. She’s not that choosy about damaging people to achieve her ends. At the same time, when we almost lost Claire to the soul machine, she sensed our attempts to anchor ourselves and gave crucial help. She can help us leverage the odds more to our favor, solidify our senses of destiny. Seems pretty important right now, you know?

Forrest …have you met him? He’s a trip, literally. That flaming interdimensional rock that put us in the astral plane was something he picked up while he was wandering through…places. He’s a mage of mind and space, and has been working with the Empire for longer than he realizes. So, kind of like me. That last part. I don’t usually help people transcend planar boundaries. He smells like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I try not to take deep breaths around him in case I end up in another dimension, to be honest. Really nice guy, good-hearted, wants to do the right thing. Also spaced out from all those drugs, and I’m saying that.

Those are all the mages I know. Both would be super helpful to work with. Problem is, I have no idea how to contact them. Maybe Empire Foundation has a way of reaching Forrest, but Whim comes and goes like her name.

Other Humans:

I don’t know her, but some of the Contingent folks mentioned a woman in New Orleans named Maman Minerva. She’s a member of the Contingent who’s also is a voodoo priestess with some connections to deeper powers. That’s about all I know.. Maybe she could help dealing with the vampires, though, or has insight into the afterlife that can help us deal with what’s coming crashing toward us right now.

So, like I said, Jackson Carver is a giant Sluagh eagle right now and is aware of the heaven.exe trap he had been locked into. I have no idea what to do with that info, but it’s a thing we should be aware of.

The Zookeeper is Proof that humans can be monsters. He’s the psycho collector of supernatural beings out on the west coast. He likes to enslave them and force them, and any nosy humans, to fight for rich assholes in a gladiator style arena. He’s extended his life for hundreds of years somehow, maybe through his buddies The Patron, has a private army, and has some deep connections to dark things. He likes to be amused, much to the suffering of others.

So she’s not technically human, but she’s a good person and her situation isn’t her fault. Lily is a sophisticated AI humanoid who was created as a sex-bot. She’s a friend to the Contingent and very powerful, both physically and in her empathic abilities. She can manipulate minds, so that’s a thing I’m not comfortable with, but I think she’d only do it to help us. Still, being near her drives people crazy and she’s powered by that same strange radiation from beyond Pluto.

Susan Rourke I know, though. She’s uh…she’s…well, let’s see. She’s the Queen of the Hill Valley Faeries, psychic, a little crazy. She likes us a lot, though, since we helped her fulfill her family’s legacy pact with the fae, and she definitely works outside of the box. That can make things a little tricky though, when she goes firing off to deal with things “her way.” She’s inherited magic, but isn’t the most reliable in some ways. When we found her she’d been manipulated and brainwashed into almost killing herself and poisoning everyone in the area, but only with the best intentions. She’s doing much better now, I’ve heard, since she got out of the coma.

Speaking of Fae..

Fae

So…there’s the Dullahan …wait, no, hear me out. She’s theoretically on our side now, or at least she’d devoted to protecting similar things at this point, and she’s true to her nature. Just…yeah, she makes Whim look moderate. Extremely powerful with an intense hatred of the Patron, she directly handles the dead. Again, that would be really helpful with what’s coming, you know? She also has the Sluagh, those psychopomp birds that can cloud the mind and target her victims. Not to mention Tom Scarlet, as scary as fuck Redcap with a really nasty axe and is dedicated to her cause. Downsides: yeah, she’s Unseelie, terrifying, has a whip made out of a spinal cord, and will act according to her nature, even if it doesn’t work out too well for us. As in, she’s ok with murdering people to protect the land and accomplish her mission to protect the land. She’s about as inhuman as you can get, so nothing can be assumed as far as what she’d consider normal and reasonable.

On a slightly less dangerous side, there’s Granger’s ladyfriend, Leanna. Sweet-as-anything Seelie Forrest Nymph. Just don’t, whatever you do, do not flirt with Granger. So, try to control yourself, Wayne. She’s friends with the werewolves out at The Farm, she’s all about protecting nature, and she’s down with the Contingent. She’s the reason we have a portal between the garage in Hill Valley and the Farm in Colorado, so we should definitely talk to her about tapping into those types of fae-human world anchor points. Or maybe Granger should.

Leanna hangs out with another important set of players here. The Werewolves of Colorado dance that line between fae and human, powerful with spiritual magic. Also, they’re a pack of big fucking werewolves. So just powerful all around. And friends with the Contingent. Ed is with them, and I trust Ed even if I don’t know the rest of the pack that well. There’s a potential downside, though. They’re a pack of big fucking werewolves who can go berserk if pushed to their limits and kill everyone/thing near them. They have duties to older forces of the world, though hopefully that will align with what The Contingent is trying to do right now.
Also hanging out with the werewolves is someone I haven’t seen in a long time: The Sphinx! She was a captive of The Zookeeper that we rescued a while back, so she owes us a favor. She’s got ancient powers and knowledge of the mysteries of the world. Also, she’s lioneish. Lionesque. Lion-like. She’s got leonine abilities. I like her a lot. But she does like to eat people.

Speaking of the world’s mysteries:

The Undead:

I don’t have a lot of love for vampires of any type, especially after Vampire Jack, but if there was any group that we might be able to work with, it’s the Boo Hags of South Carolina. They’re scary looking as fuck…basically like someone skinned them alive, and they do feed on people. They don’t necessarily like it, though, like many other vampires, but they’ll do it if it’s inconvenient not to. They are part of African-American southern history and have a great hatred for white slavers like the Carfaxes. One helped us get into the Carfax mansion, past all its defenses, so they’re good at disappearing and keeping people hidden. They’re strong and they have some sense of community. Probably the most likely to be willing to work with us and give us more insight in dealing with the dangers coming to us re: the underworld. Still, shady as hell. No pun intended. Well…no. Not intended.

So yeah, the Carfaxes. Main vampire clan in South Carolina. FUCKTHEM. Patriarch Alexander Carfax is an undead piece of shit that not only contributed to centuries of slavery, lynchings, and Jim Crow oppression to keep a convenient feeder population of victims, he tried to syphon powers from the soul cache at the dam in Hill Valley to bolster his own abilities and “storm heaven while the angels were away and take God’s place.” He directly worked with The Patron. He’s got no problem with destroying the sun, shock and surprise, but he doesn’t want to get caught in the mess that’s coming, either. He’s a nasty shapeshifter, can do blood magic, and has deep political and economic connections. We may have to factor him in, even if we don’t want to. Also has a love of music. Asshole played the harpsichord and monologued at us when we thought we’d had caught him unawares. He’d mesmerized us just so he could posture at us like a douchebag. Kept his heart in the harpsichord and ripped off his own hands so they could keep playing while he was kicking our asses. Probably doesn’t love us much after we fucked up his heart with an explosive, though. Bombs seem to fix a lot of things. Huh.

This last one I haven’t met yet, but some other members mentioned Diana Bettincourt: the Vampire Queen of New Orleans. From what I hear, she’s got minions both in that city and Baltimore and has some pretty strong political connections. She hunts other vampires, not sure why, and likes to talk. She was a part of Project Chimera and associated with the Patron. She put out the drug that had the Patron’s nanytes in it…you know, the one that gave people tha three-eyed symbol. I got that shit branded onto a rib bone after breathing in some weird mold recently. She’s also a manipulative fucking vampire.

T: “It’s sort of a multi-step thing. Kind of complicated and I forget the moving parts sometimes, but it’s basically this:

“These beings that want to crash our world with underworld, releasing all those souls through this door they created in the collective consciousness. These assholes who are trying to use us for their vengeance and power mongering while claiming it’s for our own good. They consider themselves superior to humans, using us – our souls, our minds - as batteries, tools, whatever, while believing that we in our inherent inferiority aren’t going to be able to do anything about it. But they made a huge mistake. They showed us that we have enormous capacity for power and – I think, at least - protection.

“So we’d be using everything that makes humans, well, human, that angels and demons don’t have or value like we do. Free will, love, adaptation, community, the ability to come together and become more than what we’d be alone. They used us, but they showed us how much power we truly have, and we can turn that against them like they wouldn’t believe. We also have our innovation and resourcefulness. We’re hunters because we can come up with things like ethereal rounds and fae bombs. Our ability to craft what we need to deal with the world is one of our great strengths. We are our own resource, and we should have the ability to tap into ourselves to defend our home, with a few key differences. First, we only take willing outpourings, and second, we can work alongside others, all as equals.”

W: “Ok…what do you mean by others?”

T: “Other beings. The fae, the werewolves, maybe some vampires. Beings that may have a reason to love this world, or at least not want to see it get overloaded and crashed like this.”

W: “Vampires? Seriously, Taz? What the he…”

T: “I know, but there are some that…they have reason to be who they are, and they have some sort of moral code. Look, we need to just look at all the possibilities and work from there. We’ve been learning about these beings and their motives for a long time. At the least, it’s good to know who to look out for. I’ll never work alongside the Carfaxes if I can help it, but I want people to know who they are in case they decide to step in as players again.”

W: “Ok, hit me.”

T: “No, not just yet. I need to try to talk this out of my head. This plan. These plans. They’re already in motion with Dr. Skaar’s announcement and news of Ed resurfacing, spreading the word. They and Gina have their own work cut out for them, though, so this part is on us, cuz they’re doing. . . ”

W: “Taz, focus! What is it?”

T: “Thanks, Wayne. It’s just been…it’s been something. Ok. What if we took willing expressions of collective consciousness that exist throughout the world and used it to power some kind of global protection against that opening door? I mean, we’re working toward that already with the global effort to let people know about The Contingent and how we’re trying to save the world. So we’re hopefully going to have a freaking ton of people focusing on our band to give us a boost against the Patrons. But that’s not gonna get everyone involved, and I’d bet that there’s gonna be more than a little fear mixed in with the hope. We need to diversify, Wayne.

“So, add to all that Buddhist monks seeking compassion and healing for the world; nuns in convents praying for the sick, dying, and alone that have nobody else; or fuck, anyone who’s praying, meditating, or consciously working toward the protection, healing, and well-being of others. They’re sending out massive amounts of energy into the world through those actions, and if we can focus it into a true protective barrier against this attack, we could anchor life and the land the way we anchored ourselves in Hill Valley to save Claire’s astral projection of her soul…sorry, what? Oh, she’s a reporter that joined the Contingent recently – from getting pulled into the machinery of the dam.

“Uh, yeah…the machinery is a long story. Basically, it stripped souls that were bound to the land of their very natures, and then stored the blanks. It was all sorts of fucked up, trust me. By the way, the soul of Jackson Carver is a giant Sluagh now. Just a head’s up in case you see an angry spirit eagle around.”

“What was I talking about? Anyway, it will be in line with what these people are fighting for, too, whether they’re consciously aware of it or not. It’s the anti-Patron lens. We also have a priest that’s been through hell with us who might also be able to help rally spiritual leaders in some way.

W: “So how do we do this?

T: “Not alone, and not through brutality. No, it’s got to be through connection and common ground between beings. Many of the fae and the werewolves have a love for both their world and this land, even if they are at odds with us in other ways. They have anchors and connections all over the world. The werewolves can help as liaisons between humanity and fae, able to channel that consciousness through the links between realms to create that protective barrier all over the world. You’ve got high influence with the Union, so you’d know better than I who or what the possibilities are with them. The hobo network may also be able to help with this linking, as many of them are able to hop barriers and spread throughout the land through unconventional paths.

“Vampires are trickier, because most of the ones we know have no love for humanity or anything other than their own power and advancement. But, there are the Boo Hags. Not exactly good guys, but they would definitely have an issue with supposed superior beings using and throwing away ’lesser people‘ with their grand plans. I know that The Patron’s drug in New Orleans did some serious damage to the vampire community down there, too, from what I heard. Maybe they’d be onboard with helping us. In any case, creatures like that straddle the line between life and death already. They may be able to help in some way.”

W: “So, we’re using the powers of our minds to protect the world? Through what type of focus?”

T: “Right now, we’re looking at two major things: like I said, the fae-connections between this world and theirs, as pathways to channel the energy all over the world, and to bounce it off one of Empire’s satellites, maybe more. One of them I was working on to detect the people whose souls were still tied to bodies that should’ve died in Hill Valley after we shut down that dam machinery. I did a couple things with the hedge thorn to it, so it may have some connection to the fae anchor points. Or it could crash the fae plane into ours, or something.”

W: “…”

T: “I don’t think that’ll happen. But, I mean, if we have to have a world try to occupy ours at the same time, would you prefer fae or afterlife?”

W: “Let’s just…I’m not even going to answer that question, Taz.”

T: “Huh? Oh, ok. It might be interesting to have unicorns running around. I may have drawn up some mech-armor specs…”

W: “Spearing people to death with their horns?”

T: “…”

W: “Taz.”

T: “Yeah, ok, not the best idea. So here’s the next part. We’ve got the global mind creating that layer of protection, right? We can also use the power of our global heart to take action: push back against that door and lock it, then take or destroy the key.”

W: “Ok, so how’s this part going down? Have you found a global heart in your wanderings?”

T: “No, I don’t think so. Not this time.”

W: “I’m just going to let that one go for now.”

T: “What, did I say something? Huh. Anyway, Yeah, we have a global heart in a way: music. We have music all over the world. Every musician playing from their heart to add beauty to the world; every wedding celebration of love; and every moment where people use rhythm and melody to celebrate what makes us cherish our world; that’s our power. We use that to drive the door shut against the Underworld.”

W: “We throw music at it? Just play a happy song and make everything right? Have you been smoking something?”

T: “Yes. Well, I mean, technically, it was ingesting an extra-planar living rock that was on fire at the time. Which brings me to Forrest.”

W: “Ok…”

T: “So music is fundamentally just a vibration with soul. A tuning fork has the ability to turn vibration into a more focused, purer wave of power. We need to be able to take that force into the astral plane and turn it into something pure and powerful enough to push that door closed. Once the door is closed, we need to be able to either remove or destroy the key in the door, but let’s put a pin in that right now. Two things I can think of that are far reaching, associated with spiritual/astral planes, and respond to vibrations are crystals and water. Seems like the places we’re going to be to make our stands – San Francisco, New Orleans, and DC – are all near a major source of water. There are also several caverns with crystal formations, not as nearby, but close to each site.

“So two possibilities: using some crystal or crystals naturally existing in the earth as a cosmic tuning fork, sending a strong enough vibration to slam the door shut, or energizing water to do something similar. Most caverns are connected to water, so if we wanted to use underground crystals as that link between the expression of music and rhythm and the water itself, that could work, too. I have a very strong feeling that Forrest is into surfing planar vibrations on multiple levels. If our oceans and waterways could be used to channel these vibrations, similar to how the thoughts of people are going to be channeled through the anchor points, it’s possible that Forrest and other supernatural beings help take the energy simultaneously being created in the astral plane and basically launch it toward the door? Sort of like a massive astral waterspout that totally doesn’t sound super crazy, thank you very much. This would also involve Whim working to keep probabilities aligned to prevent us doing horrific damage. And we’d have the barrier we’d previously created to help mitigate damage, anyway.

“Now, the last thing: the key. Thanks to this guy Jack’s awesome parkour, we have half of it. What I’m going to suggest is way outside my wheelhouse, but I think I have the basic ideas down. We need to get some of our best scientists and occultists, maybe crafters, too, to study its properties. One idea that an electron or atom can be in two places at once, so what affects it in one place will affect it in the other. I have no idea if or how that’s true, but I have a feeling mages and dreamtime people can step in with their ideas. The other thought is the medieval concept of sympathetic magic, or even weapon-salves, which involve the belief that treating the weapon can cure the wound. I’m basically wondering if there’s a way to control or destroy the part of the key in the lock through the half that we have. It obviously has to have more going on with it than its physical form. But that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

“Another possibility would be to “magnetize” it in some metaphysical way that it pulls the other one out and back to the half we’ve got, but I’m not a fan of this because of the risk of ours actually getting pulled to the half in the door,instead, if we fail. We might be able to create a type of astral magnet that doesn’t involve our part of the key, if we can get enough info about it, though.”

W: “Sweet Jesus, Taz. This is a lot to take in.”

T: “I know. And there are a lot of gaps in my mem…in my knowledge that, if we do this, we’re going to have to work together to fill out. But that’s where I’m not as worried. We have our innovation and resourcefulness. We’re hunters because we can come up with things like ethereal rounds and fae bombs. We can come up, between all of us, with what we need. I don’t have any doubt of that. If you’re ok with it, I’m going to share this recording on a safe channel with the rest of the Contingent”

W: “No problem. You know, you sound different. Is something going on with you?”

T: “I’m more focused than I’ve been in a long time, Wayne. But yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m still me.”

Found along NYC/Raleigh/New Orleans routes

Dozens seen on bulletin boards in migrant services centers, translated from Spanish:

Brothers and sisters, keep your eyes open, because dark times are coming. The stories and legends of our childhoods are rising up and we are caught in the middle. Some are friendly, some are not. Do your best to learn: ally yourselves with those who work alongside humanity to defend us all from those who wish harm to humanity and its allies. Your brothers and sisters in the Contingent stand with you; we are your teachers, your mail carriers, your trash collectors, your police, your doctors, and more. Learn, prepare yourselves, and don’t stand alone. We are here and we are with you.

Dozens seen on bulletin boards in county jails, bail bondsman offices, and county courthouse holding rooms:

Boys and girls, you’ve seen things moving in the shadows, skittering in alleys, melting into the cracks in the pavement. Things that don’t make sense, things that just can’t exist. You’re not wrong; they’re there. They’re real. Some of them are friendly, some of them aren’t. It’s time for you to learn the difference…because real soon, it could mean life or death. Time’s tickin’ away, kids. And not just because the cops caught you this time. The Contingent exists for times like these, and we are with you. Don’t face the darkness alone. Be informed, be ready, know who your friends are. Might be surprised at who turns out to have your back.

One envelope, addressed to Fr. Balfour and taped to a confessional at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Atlanta, GA:

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a long time since my last confession. So long, I can’t remember when the last one was. A lot has happened since then. Some of it, I won’t confess because I don’t believe it could ever be a sin, regardless of what the Church teaches. But the rest…oh, Father, the rest. I’ve caused physical harm countless times, in defense of myself and others. I don’t think I’ve ever actually killed a person, but I’ve certainly had the chance to stop others and not done so, which is the same, I suppose. I’ve stolen. Cars, weapons, stuff. I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain more often than I’ve spoken my own. And we won’t even try to sum up the individual counts of fornication. Really, let’s not.

I drugged my girl and left her in the back seat of the car while our friends and I did a job. For her safety, and ours. It was a shitty thing to do, but it was safer for everybody. It really was. She was freaking out, and she would have given us all away. Doesn’t mean I felt good about it.

Also, I’m questioning the nature of God these days. Hard. I’ve seen the Angels, Father, and the Demons, too. The wheels of eyes, and haloes of fire, and wings of blades: they’re real, and they treat us like pawns in their power games. I can’t allow myself to believe that the God I was taught about as a girl would allow that. Was that God a lie?

Anyway, Father, I’ve got a lot to atone for, and probably not a lot of time left in which to atone for it. So any prayers you could offer for me are appreciated. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here on the right day to do this in person. I’ll just keep praying as I do, and hope to find atonement through action.

The end might be coming sooner than you think, Father. Be careful who you pray to, and for what. Open your eyes to what’s going on in the world. We’re almost out of time.

The high tinny sound of old country music filled the dingy bar. No one seemed to pay much attention to the aging jukebox in the corner, minus the drunk next to it humming along to whichever song of heartbreak and loneliness it played. Above it stood the Union emblem burned into wooden planks, covered nearly entirely in photos of those lost to the vigil.

The rest of the bar’s patrons certainly were of a type: roughneck. These were men and women who made a living by sweat and pain; the sorts that built this great nation and were generally invisible to the rest of it.

A man and woman stood behind the wraparound bar in the center of the room, clearly related. They moved with easy comfort from years of the trade, a well-orchestrated system of bottles, glasses, and just the right word or look at the right time to help those not lost in their cups. Above them hung a series of party lights from the back-stock cabinetry, burned out long ago.

A welcoming smell of grilled food floated in the air, barely covering the smell of cigarette smoke outlawed years ago. It was late afternoon; neon light from the sign outside declaring “Johnnie and Connie’s” floated in between the old wooden blinds with the sun’s dying rays.

The sound of wood creaking and cracking cut through the music as the door to the bar shifted in the frame, the light of the East Texas sun through the small window in the door going dark as small thorny vines crept around the frame. With a sound like a splintering frame, the door opened the wrong direction, revealing a narrow path through an overgrown forest, and a wall of a man with strongly Nordic features and blond hair pulled into a ponytail. The room fell silent as Dain’s penetrating eyes swept from side to side, looking for threats. ‘Predator’ radiated from him, and no one dared to move.

“Room’s clear,” he called out, stepping out of the doorway and to the left. Several of the burned-out bulbs in the party lights flared red as he entered the room.

Ed’s appearance broke the spell of silence. Suddenly the room filled with whispers and mumblings, shock and disbelief on many of their faces. “Holy shit, it’s you,” exclaimed Johnnie. “We heard rumors you were out of the game.”

Leanna closed the door gently, patting it like an old friend as the vine retreated from around the door and the sun began to shine through the window once more. Dain and Victoria stalked through the room, closing blinds and peering out at the cars in the lot.

“I thought so too,” Ed replied, taking Johnnie’s extended hand in a warm handshake. “But you saw Skaar on TV. You know he’s telling the truth. You can feel it. Something bad is on the horizon and we can’t wait for it to get here.”

Connie sat down the glass he’d been cleaning. “So what do we do? I mean, that sounds great on a billboard, but what do we actually do?”

“I know what we do!” came the drunken exclamation from someone at the bar. “We pop us some freaks! Don’t matter which ones, fangers, furries, dandelion eaters, whatever. Plug ’em all and let God sort it out.”

A low growl, more felt than heard, rumbled from Dain. Ed, hackles raised, pinned Dain in place with a glance that said Let me handle this.

“And just what good do you think will come from fighting each other?” Ed thundered in reply. “You think they’re not just as fucked as you are if this goes down? No one wins, everyone loses. That’s what happens if we all start fighting each other. This is not our way!”

Ed slammed his hand on the bar to punctuate his point. Mumbles of agreement spread throughout the bar. Running his hand through his hair, Ed composed himself. It would be so easy to let the anger win, Ed thought. Always right there, just under the surface…

Ed pulled a brown folder from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the bar. “This is a list of Gestalt sites in the region.” he said, jabbing his finger onto the folder. “They’re in the thick of whatever’s going on and we need to shut them down. Show everyone that we can make a difference. Right now, there’s a lot of fear out there and not much hope. It’s time to change that.”

Victoria had paid little attention to the room’s antics, regularly peeking through the blinds into the parking lot. Something caught her attention. “Ed, we have to leave — now,” she said, forceful and stern.

Ed sighed. “There is never enough time. I’m sorry for what comes next,” he said.

Dain placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder and steered him back towards the entrance, barking a command behind him. “Leanna, the door.”

She nodded before kneeling down and whispering into the lock. Standing, she pushed it open the wrong way with the sound of cracking wood, revealing a moon-lit pasture choked with nettles instead of the sunny parking lot. Victoria was the first through, rifle at the ready, followed quickly by Dain and Ed. Leanna gave the room a wide smile. “You can do this—I just know you can,” she said, pushing the door shut.

Moments later, the same door swung inward, hitting the bell at the threshold. The bell’s tone seemed to break the moment, bring things back to the now. In came a trio of men, clearly not the type to spend their time in out-of-the-way dive bars. Everything about them screamed “cop”, from the mirrored shades to the arrogant swagger in their walk. The leader walked directly to bar while the others fanned out throughout the room. “We’re looking for someone,” he announced, pulling a photo from his breast-pocket. “Ed McLaughlin. Answer all of our questions and there won’t be any trouble.”

Johnnie glanced just above the newcomer at the string of party lights now burning bright blue. Other bulbs came to life as the other two men neared the bar. To one side, Connie reached between the ice chest and liquor rail to pull a sawed-off shotgun from its holster.

“Lock the doors,” Johnnie called out to his patrons, then turned to address the newcomers directly. “You boys just found a whole heap of trouble.”

As various primetime television channels fade to commercial, the first ad opens up on Dr. Skaar leaning against his desk. The classic oak furniture and masculine earth tones of his decor give a warm, comfortable feel to his office. Off to the side, something that is just out of focus is thrashing in a cage. Skaar looks at the camera and gives a small smile before he starts speaking.

“Good evening, or whatever time it is when you’re watching this on YouTube. As you are no doubt aware, I am Dr. Skaar. Several years ago, I founded the Empire Foundation on three simple ideals: pursuit of pure science unfettered by orthodoxy, ethical transparency, and the protection of humanity.

“You have no doubt heard some pretty wild rumors recently. Even more, you feel something. Something ineffable has changed. It’s like you just noticed a door in your house for the first time that you never knew was there, and something on the other side is jiggling the handle. I am here to tell you that it’s real. All of it. There are monsters. They are amongst us, hidden in plain sight. They are our allies, friends, and lovers—some of them helping us throughout the centuries. However, there are many more who view us as nothing more than a lunchable.”

Skaar stands up and walks toward the cage. As he does so the camera pans in on some sort of four legged creature inside. Hard to rationalize, later people would describe it as looking like a hairless grizzly bear, rough grey skin stretched across muscle and bulk. There are too many teeth in a jaw that stretches far too long. Fire licks its nostrils when it exhales. As the CEO approaches, it appraises him with pale blue eyes. They’re almost human looking.

“Over here, we have what is colloquially known as a hellhound.”

The animal growls; small spines can be seen rising from its pallid skin. The two stare each other down for a beat before Skaar continues.

“Ordinarily, the quantum flux of such a creature renders it invisible to the naked eye. Empire Foundation technology has made it possible to see such an abomination.”

Skaar absently taps the cage, causing the beast to lunge, impotently snapping at its containment. With a small sigh, Skaar looks back at the camera.

“This is not why I’m here, though. There is an imminent attack that threatens the lives of millions of us. I am working with a group, the Contingent, to stop it, but we need everyone’s help. To that end, I am publishing online everything we have. Names will be redacted, but all the notes, all the research, all the proof, will be there. Worse, evidence of our government’s collusion is in there. Read about Task Force Valkyrie, Ashford Abbey, and Thurisaz Ventures, and hold your leaders accountable. Gaze at the tangled web that is Gestalt and their many subsidiaries, then clear your medicine cabinet and pantry of their wide influence.

“The Empire Foundation will temporarily offer live tours of our facilities, organized by my assistant Ms. Whitehall. Come to our labs and see the supernatural with your own eyes.

How To Save The Entire Damn World...

I and a few others have been thinking quite a bit about how to un-fuck the world after what happened during our last set of missions to stop the Patron(s).

Not everything about the mission was bad. Specifically, the Patrons showed us something that can most likely help fix all of this: There is a goddamned COLLECTIVECONSCIOUSNESS OF HUMANITY

This isn’t a hair brained theory any more. This isn’t some kooky spiritualist’s ramblings. This is a bonafide fact of the damn universe that everybody witnessed in The Triangle.

And it’s ours.

Not theirs.

So let’s use it.

This is seriously going to take a unified and coordinated effort by every Compact, Ally, Contact and Asset that the Contingent can bring to bare. All our skills. All our resources.

What we do is actually pretty simple. We craft a story about the Contingent. An amazing and epic story that uplifts the spirit and gives you hope when you read it. An amazing and diverse group of people coming together to stem the tide of darkness that threatens to overtake the world. We name names and spare no detail on descriptions of past exploits and greatness. We tell the stories of everyone that has fought and died with the Contingent for the betterment of humanity while everyone slept, oblivious to the unrelenting dangers that threaten our world on a daily basis.

We go public.

And we provide evidence. Years and years of collected and corroborating evidence. Other Hunter organizations can back us up if they want. We hack government databases and provide all the surveillance info we can. We build tech to boost the signal We use every member’s connections and allies to back it all up and help spread the story. We reignite the “Secret Frequency” as the “Overt Frequency” using the satellite the Empire Foundation recently put into orbit and whatever other networks we can hack and use. Bring the dark net into the light. Make this modern epic go viral like nothing has before.

We need all of our available agents and assets to travel to the parts of the world that aren’t connected electronically. They’ve got a month. They can do it. Spreading the story of the Contingent to anyone who will listen. Every corner of the world will know what we’ve tried to keep in the shadows for years.

The story spreads like a virus through music and stories and memes and YouTube and 24 hour news coverage and whatever other vector humanity can think of. A month in the modern world is a damn eternity.

But here’s the kicker. The crux of it all. We have to drive home the fact that in the near future the Contingent will need everyone. And by everyone I mean every single person living on this planet. Men, women, children, Mages, Werewolves, Changelings…whatever. Everyone. They’ll need everyone to think of the names of the members of the contingent and lend them their strength through sheer force of will so that they can save the world one more time. Stop saying “Our thoughts and prayers are with you” and let’s actually do it.

Over 7 billion people thinking at the same time about the same little band of people trying to do good and wishing they would save them one more time when the world is faced with annihilation. 7 billion people focusing their collective consciousness on the Contingent…

And then we save the damn world.

Because I honestly cannot think of a more appropriate way to stop the end of existence than bringing all of humanity into it and putting a stop to all the shadow game bull shit.

The Death of Richard Miller, Part II

An older reflection of John appeared upon the screen. Tired rings weighed down his eyes, and his hesitance was plain in his expression. John wasn’t sure if it was the constant traveling or the years in academia that gave him the small shocks of white hair that peppered his beard, but they were certainly new. It’s been over eight years since he last saw Richard, and news of his death still hasn’t quiet settled in. John glanced over the instructions once more; Richard had left instructions to only play the video over the camcorder it was recorded from. A large stack of papers came with it all, all neatly written and detailing a bunch of hoodoo he knew nothing about. Blackstar? The Patron? Keys and Towers? Granted, he knew his brother was a history buff, but this was reading less like a thesis and more like one of those spooky SCP story entries that people write for fun. Or because they were crazy.

John huffed, thumbing the play button.

Greetings John. If you’re listening to this, then it’s likely because I have died one way or another. The how shouldn’t concern you, because quite frankly, there is a lot for you to catch up on, and it’s rather overwhelming, even for myself.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Seemed like Richard didn’t change much. Asshole…

I wouldn’t normally consider this, but given my current situation, I found it prudent to ensure that whatever I’ve researched, found, or gathered be readily accessible to The Contingent in the event of my demise or if I am compromised.

The Contingent? John canted his head, as he listened to his brother ramble about who they were.

Speaking of which, what is shared here is between you and I. Samantha and Rhys don’t need to catch wind of this. I’d say Rhys was the more responsible brother, but he can barely hold a gun. At least you look like you could handle yourself. You just need to make sure that you keep them safe, keep them uninvolved with whatever these things have in plan for us. I’ve left a few locations listed somewhere that you can drag them off to, hopefully they may workout as a place to hide out, but time will tell, I suppose.

John was already finding it all to be a bit much to take in.

If you decide to get in contact with the Contingent, my first suggestion; don’t trust anyone. Any one of them could be marked like myself. The chances that the enemy has people inside are rather high. If you DO follow up on all this, talk to Virgil, or Eva. You might be able to get a hold of one of them by talking to the proprietor of the Alibi, down in New Orleans. That might be your best lead, aside from digging through my phone if it is recovered. Just be sure it’s something you want to do before you dive in like you always do. You may not recall Six Flags, so let me add that you should be careful in New Orleans, and for God’s sake, try not to end up on a bus full of vampires again. I’m not around to dig you out of trouble a third time, so just be smart, alright?

John watched Richard’s tired face form a small smile.

We’re dysfunctional, but we’re still family. Be safe.

John blinked at the camcorder’s playback screen, still digesting what he had heard. He mumbled the only words he could muster to himself.

The Death of Richard Miller

Richard eyed Allie with uncertainty. Her sudden appearance in this hellish maze didn’t make sense, but he was quickly finding that hard to focus on. As Charles leveled his odd weapon at Allie, Richard found himself unable to focus on the conversation at hand. The occasional word of argument would make its way to his ears, drawing his attention briefly, but the door behind the woman raptly held his gaze.

Wayne held him from back, much to Richard’s ire. “Let me go, I am fine!” Richard’s hiss was cut short by the sting of otherworldly energy searing into his flesh. Wayne’s grasp faltered, and the hunter’s scrambled to react. Before them was the Patron is it’s true form, horrible and mechanical, a mess of eyes bearing vile intent. Or at least it seemed that way for a moment. For the briefest of moments, he thought he felt compassion, echoed by a warm voice urging him to the door; to safety.

He complied. The door was shelter from the impending doom, a safe haven from the coming troubles. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but that didn’t matter. He knew he was right, everything he’s researched pointed to this. The before. This obviously lead to what was before.

“Zhī gi án dă kāi dè goānijàn,” he muttered, watching the chains fall away from the door. He glanced behind him, hesitating briefly as he observed the others. They were delaying the inevitable. He turned back to the door and reached forward, resting his hand upon the door and savoring this triumph of his. Just one step. One step and he’d know the truth. He hesitated once more.

In that moment, the Patron’s whirling form barreled through the door, nearly knocking the man over. Richard was flabbergasted. What had happened? The grasp of finger’s upon his jacket made him aware of the others once more and an alarming sense of dread set in. He cast a maddened glare over his shoulder, seeing who it was that would keep him from the door, his gateway to salvation.

“Let go! Get back!” he cried, slipping an arm free from a sleeve. They were going to get him killed! They would all die out here! Either by fate or luck, he tugged free of his assailant’s hold, lurching towards the door. No more hesitation, this was his chance. With an arm blindly held forward, he followed after the Patron into the doorway.

Almost instantly his mania snapped, leaving in it’s wake an empty void of dread. What did he do? This is all wrong! This isn’t salvation!

The Darkness Closes In

For not the first time in the last couple months, I again lie in a hospital bed wondering if I made the wrong choice in joining the Contingent. I got partially frozen on my last mission, with two demons possessing me and trying to come alive in me. This mission I was brought to consciousness after nearly bleeding out after an attack by someone who we thought was our friend, but turned out to be a Demon. I have grow closer to Grainger over the past month or so. He felt guilt about me taking his possession and it almost killing me. He has been helping me through the recovery and we get word that we are to have a mission in Chapel Hill, NC. He still seems to be having some problems with his guilt, I am trying to get him to let go of it, but it is deeply embedded. But, maybe I can convince him to give me his confession, if he can rid himself of this guilt and I can help, maybe it will lend some healing to both of us in our mutual attempts to battle our own guilty conscious. We combined with Taz, Jack, Virgil and Zac for this mission. I love these people, I worked with Virgil and Taz before and I cannot think of better people. Jack is an enigma. He was soulless from his last mission until…SHE…gave him a soul. How does one lose their soul? It is not even their’s to give and God would not relinquish control to another. What is going on? And then there is Zac…God bless him, Lord knows the college students sure did when we showed up at the Morehead Observatory. They acted like it was the second coming of Christ. He is not even a good actor, Antiquarium is one of the worst films I have ever seen. The amount of thought he puts into his films is equal to the amount of thought he puts into the rest of the events in his life, mainly none. His cavalier shoot first, ask questions later attitude nearly killed us this time. God love him, cause I am having some difficulties in that realm. None the less, his pretty face posed as a wonderful distraction at the observatory for me and the rest of the team to sneak into the back rooms. This is where we found…absolutely nothing, zip, zilch, nada. Except for the existence of some weird construction on the observatory itself. Allie came with us to “help.” Which of course was welcome at the time. But after we were zapped from the arcade called Baxter’s to some steam tunnels under the observatory, she showed who she really was. We had found ourselves in this tunnel which oddly enough had offices in it with lots of information concerning the construction on the observatory and other things. In addition we found a computer with the transcript of a conversation held between four entities, one of which turned out to be Allie. All four of which appeared to be Demons, and us having a traitor in our midsts. Cue Zac. While we attempted to talk to Allie and make heads or tails of this information, he shot an arrow at her. Then after she appeared to open a door to some weird place he shot an explosive arrow into the doorway. He hurt everyone, to say both were brash actions, might be an understatement. Allie or whatever her Hellspawn name is led us through this entryway, into what can only be described as maybe a pocket dimension. We were on a platform and in front and below us were ourselves with jacks and cords plugged into our heads, strapped to tables. Of course this is where we find what we were looking for and Allie says she has been keeping “us” until she can convince us of the validity of her actions. In a nutshell, destroy life on Earth by colliding it with the lives in Heaven and Hell at the same time and overloading God with everything that is going on. Thus destroying Him. Cue Zac once again… he shot some weird device we know nothing about out of Allie-Demon’s hands and it led to more pain for us. I feel a little deja vu coming on. Allie turned into some mass of eyeballs that shot lasers and tried to kill us. At this time, the weird lens siphoning energy from the contingent members with the 3 eye symbol on them in the distance seemed slightly less important. Did I also mention that it was sending this energy into the entire populace of the planet? Cause that is what it looked like. After that things got kinda nuts. Virgil sang some song into a Black Sun Diamond and called some Angel of Death down to help. Thats cool, but of course he came to kill everything, so were in the crosshairs as well. After some door opened, and a key appeared, Jack was able to break the key, by nearly sacrificing himself to the action. Zac saved him. I guess all that stunt work can be useful at times. Somehow Allie opened the door back out of the room, from which we dragged our other selves and escaped through the steam tunnels. When the consciousnesses converged from both existences of each person, some were unconscious and close to death. Yours truly amongst them. i don’t really understand what happened as i lay here in reflection. All I know is that, the Lord has put me in a place where I feel I am doing His work, but I will be damned if I am for once not sure if I can do what He is asking.

♜: All consumers were visually tagged, per agreed protocol. A search-fail by your agents should be concerning, but it is not my failure.

⊙: ᚦ, don’t take your frustration out on everyone else. However, you do raise a good point. ♜, stop sleeping where you’re eating.

ᚦ: For real though, that street meat is starting to get to your brain.

♜: There were some losses of control, but, it’s been within the agreed upon risk parameters.

ᚦ: Has it?

♜: Of course.

❤: It did help in San Francisco. We were able to procure more of what ⊙ wants.

♜: ᚦ, the risk matrix was evident. Baltimore is under your control, now that I’ve removed the greatest risk. In addition, our vampire problems in New Orleans became solutions. I fail to see your issue.

⊙: The issue is that if the Contingent had been any smarter, they would have uncovered our plans and then our entire operation would have been jeopardized. You were lucky that they are all homo sapien fools.

♜: Yes, but that was part of the risk matrix, wasn’t it?

⊙: Well, yes, we did run simulations against them, first. Especially the active hunters.

♜: They rescued me; what further proof could you want that the calculations were accurate?

ᚦ: They located the ectoplasm needed for the Phase One reprogramming, plus they showed me exactly how the Masonic carvings work—they even delivered the instructions. All I had to do was uninstall them and transport them to the mortals’ boneyard. SUCKERS!!

❤: They also gave us the bell. They practically gifted it to us wrapped in a bow.

⊙: It’s unfortunate that you then followed that up by slaughtering their coworkers. I am bothered by how often we resort to murder. It’s inefficient and unkind. Do not forget that they have killed several of our enemies and injured one of our rebellious “allies” this year alone.

♜: Again, part of the risk matrix.

ᚦ: You know, if we play this right, we could probably turn them on Blackstar next.

♜: What are you…?

⊙: Don’t use their names! You know you can’t use names!

♜: Why would you say that?

⊙: Because she’s impulsive and a crazy person.

♜: Switching channels.

<transmissions>

♜: Confirmation, all parties present, no external agents.

⊙: My location in Columbia was destroyed. This is why everyone says you’re a bitch.

ᚦ: Oops! Sorry about that ;D

⊙: “Sorry about that”? It was on purpose.

❤: Children…

⊙: Your lies don’t work on us, ᚦ. We aren’t idiots.

❤: No, we have the Contingent for that. <laughter> I believe we now do what the humans call “a fist bump.”

⊙: I still would like to perform an analysis to make sure that the world will end as expected.

❤: “End of the world” is so grim. I prefer “rebirth.”

ᚦ: A new evolution.

⊙: I am amenable to renaissance.

❤: The Renaissance. Now, that was an age. Art and beauty all around me.

♜: The Renaissance didn’t go well for me. All that freedom doesn’t suit my tastes.

⊙: Back to the issue at hand. Phase One is reaching its apex. Everything has been procured. Once the Door has been created, we can use our Key.

♜: This doesn’t involve the three of us.

⊙: It does. Without Phase One, the conditions wouldn’t arise that even makes Phase Two possible.

♜: I am aware; however, leave Phase Two to us, as we are leaving Phase One to you. Compartmentalizing the details of each Phase was critical to risk reduction.

❤: The ones that were too broken for my workings in San Francisco were sent to you. Have you received them?

⊙: Yes, and their physical condition was better than anticipated.

♜: And I expect you have the applied science from the New Orleans transubstantiation experiment?

⊙: Yes, it’s already running.

❤: Ah, and the rivers?

⊙: The Avernian wellsprings are being diverted as expected. They should be unleashed on schedule.

ᚦ: Once the waters are running again, I’m FINALLY gonna get my boy out of lockup! The party in D.C. is gonna be OFFTHEHOOK!!

⊙: Your love triangle is just so creepy.

ᚦ: What love triangle?! There’s no TRIANGLE. There was me, and Samael. Samael picked the wrong side…and I made sure he paid for his lack of vision. Soon, he’ll understand—we’ll reform humanity hand in hand, as it was always meant to be.

⊙: Ugh, you are so…human. It’s disgusting.

❤: Love is love is love.

♜: Well, ᚦ did fall for a reason. As did we all.

<silence>

♜: Moving on, the revisions to the Etemenanki Protocol are nearly ready. The energy is stacked away. We just need to find the right puppet to pull it off.

⊙: Excellent! And your new nation is about to be formed.

❤: Yes. An eruption, one might say.

⊙: Lol

ᚦ: Oh, I already have a spot for my new condo all staked out. You can use it if you want, ♜. Think of it as a timeshare.

⊙: HA, timeshare. I see what you did there.

♜: I’m putting things right, down in the Delta. I won’t have time for Volcano.

⊙: This is where we fundamentally differ. I think people should be free and rise up. You want to replace our Father.

❤: Daddy issues.

♜: “Daddy” didn’t smash you into dust and cast you across the planet. So yes, I have some issues.

❤: No, Daddy just smashed everything I loved into bits.

ᚦ: None of you know issues. My work was everything, literally everything, and it was taken from me.

⊙: I lost my wine glass when I fell…

❤: Aww, I have a vineyard with many wine glasses if you need one.

⊙: Actually, yes! Also, I prefer pinks.

♜: WINE? There’s no wine in the New World. There’s just some horrid thing that grows near the coast. The fact that you could call it wine is beyond me. And of course you like pinks.

ᚦ: That’s why it likes walking around in that hippie-chick meat suit so damn much.

⊙: I don’t always wear my “hippie chick.” I have a lot of identities. I’m not as attached to mine as you are.

ᚦ: Oh, come on. Allie keeps popping up all over the place, and that’s just a coincidence?

Storyteller: Justin

One of the locations pointed out by Rouke is Morehead Observatory in Chapel Hill. This venerable location announced ambitious plans for renovations earlier in the year and has recently reopened for limited shows. However the Contingent hasn’t been able to discover the source of the funding for these renovations or even who performed them. The parallels between this and Flagstaff are unnerving. Let’s all come back from this alive.

Hunters

Major Clues

Patron is actually four demons

Patrons believe that they are overthrowing an oppressive world and freeing everyone, but, most people will die in the process

Allie is the Patron of the Eye

The Patron of the Eye used the observer effect to still the minds of humanity. Then, it used psychics to gather madness and focus it, creating a door to something else in the mind of humankind, allowing them to believe the world was weirder and darker than they thought. Next, the key was partially put in the door before being broken. The door cracked open.

Phase one of the plan of the Patrons to end the world and start it over is complete. Phase two is beginning.

Storyteller: Cathy

Susan Rourke believes Dorothea Dix hospital is another key location in The Patron’s apocalyptic plans. Although there are rumors of the hospital’s imminent closing, it still houses a small number of inmates. In fact, traffic cameras show a charter bus in the area recently with California plates unloading new patients. Our preliminary research traces the bus back to GesCharter; yet another mysterious shell corp. The Contingent must found out what The Patron is planning and help the people inside who may be under its control.

Storyteller: Richard

Rourke marked Duke University as a center of Patron activity. Contingent operatives also identified Duke’s Parapsychology Department as the source of a hack that compromised ASI’s dream lab weeks ago. This hacker may also be responsible for bringing down the Secret Frequency. Your team must infiltrate the West Duke Building, locate and neutralize the rogue hacker’s operations, and gather advance intel for our heavy hitters.

Hunters

Major Clues:

The Patron is not a single demonic entity as long-suspected, but rather four distinct demons working in concert to bring about the end of the world.

One of the Patron Demons, the Eye (using the guises of Allie Espina and Ben Coffin), funded research at Duke’s Rhine Lab to funnel madness from patients at Dix Hospital into Rhine’s telepaths and project it out into all of humanity via the equipment at the Morehead Planetarium. The endgoal was to make humanity capable of believing in their apocalyptic vision—or, as Allie claimed repeatedly, “to free you, both in mind and in soul”.

The Observer summoned a horrid entity from beyond this reality to achieve its goals at Duke: a psychic cenobite which used the guise of Dr. Jim Krull to recruit psychics and telepathically flood them with insanity.

To bring about this cataclysmic potential, the Eye created a mystical Key from both its own body and the brands of its cultists (including Miles Jaggens) to unlock a great Door which appeared in an extradimensional space inside the lab. Although the hunters destroyed both the Key and the Eye, the other demons—the Heart, the Thorn, and the Tower—claimed that the Door’s mere existence was all that they required in order to move forward with their plan. Furthermore, the hunters learned that the Eye had created a glitch in space-time to repeat these events in three distinct locations so as to multiply its chances of success in case one of its attempts failed (as it did here).

Harry McCoy put his video camera up to the keyhole in the Door and saw five rivers—three of water, one of fire, one of blood—flowing together into a great rift of darkness. A cloud of tormented souls rose out of the mist and steam.

I went through a dimention in a dam with no name

I’ve been continuing to research the history of what I’m going to refer to as the Hill Valley dam. The reason I say that is that as strange as this sounds, on every record and drawing I’ve come across, there is some sort of copying error, degradation, or damage that obscures the name. Construction of the dam was completed in 1929 just as the Great Depression was taking hold. There doesn’t seem to be any budget authorization from the South Carolina General Assembly to build the dam. I also can’t find any call or information about the impetus for this dam from within the Department of Natural Resources or the Department of Transportation. It appears it came directly from a small office in the Department of Administration but the funding source for it is unclear. The whole project was planned by a company named Noir Astra and built by other various private contractors. They did not consult with the Army Corp of Engineers as is typical for large water projects of this nature. Noir Astra and every other company that I can track down that was involved in the construction of the dam went under either shortly after the dam was created or in the stock market crash.

Another oddity is that while this was a new dam, a project was undertaken under the WPA (Workers Progress Administration) to “revitalize" the dam. WPA projects were almost exclusively for new infrastructure that was labor intensive. I’m unclear what may have been labor intensive about “revitalizing” a new dam. Also strangely, despite the controversy of the WPA and how projects were selected and money was spent, this dam never showed up on any lists of misappropriated projects that opponents of the WPA objected to.

The Hill Valley dam also underwent another set of renovations and upgrades in 1979, exactly 50 years after the original construction. This time the upgrades were performed by the Department of Transportation but it is unclear who initiated these upgrades. The dam hadn’t been listed in the Department’s previous list of critical infrastructure investment needs in years prior. In 1979 it just appeared on the list and the work was performed. I can’t find any earlier environmental impact studies about the project that are required and typically done years in advance of the project actually starting.

Dam Design

Even more mysterious than the funding and building of the Hill Valley dam is the intent behind it. From looking at insurance flood plain maps and historical records, the Tyger River watershed has no history of serious flooding. From a flood prevention perspective, there is no reason for a dam even to the original specification size, much less the later improvements and upgrades. Agriculturally, along various branches of the Tyger River, there hasn’t been extensive need of water management either. Historically, Hill Valley and the surrounding area hasn’t had any heavy industry. Business have typically chosen to locate closer to Greenville. It wasn’t until Cloverleaf was set up in the 90’s that the area had any industrial base at all, so there was no need for a hydro electric facility of this size.

Now that I’ve ruled out all of the common purposes for building a dam, I’m left with the uncommon. The dam is constructed with multiple sets of wards. My research shows that one set of wards is to prevent ghosts from entering the area. Another set of wards are to prevent death. Looking at the various stages of the dam’s design and subsequent renovation projects, the dam always had a gothic style that is pretty atypical for both the area and the time period for public works. There is definite death symbolism included in the design. However, looking over the plans and the lists of materials used, it wasn’t until the 1979 renovations and upgrades that these were actually completed into what I recognize as modern wards. I can’t completely rule out whether there were mystical effects from the initial design though. The wards now however are degraded and not at the power they were designed with in 1979.

Dam Recent History and Interest to The Contingent
The land around the damn originally belonged to the Rourkes. At some point eminent domain was used by the State of SC and was declared public land and made part of an obscure conservatory program. The Carfax Trust acquired the land in 1992 from the State of SC. We now know that Alexander Carfax is a very powerful vampire. He had some knowledge of what was happening at/in the area of the dam but didn’t know how to access it. Someone within Project Chimera, in 2006, Carfax had Tom and Cloverleaf install security and keep a watch on the dam site. It wasn’t until our team discovered how to access…I don’t know quite what to call it other than “the site”, that Carfax could make his move. When in “the site” there was some somewhat modern equipment that seemed to be from a Project Chimera expedition. I’m unsure if they did not inform Carfax of how to enter, or if there were other factors that he wasn’t ready to launch his plan yet.

The Site

We were able to access what isn’t really the damn, but is in some sort of perpendicular space that is at the same site as the dam. In this other dimensional space, we found a massive device, that was comprised of two giant pillars that had interfaces at the base. The interfaces were VM interfaces with keyboards. Strangely enough we were able to understand the interface and keyboards. Even inside the interface, there was an escape to console such as you even see in some video games. It is truly frightening what could enable this sort of mapping onto our understanding of an intuitive interface. Once we were in the interface, we discovered a computer simulation of “heaven” afterlifes for souls that seemed to somehow be pulled into this device. It appeared to be the souls of those bound to the Hill Valley area. They were each living out an afterlife, unaware that they were actually in a device. The device itself seemed to be breaking down and not completely operating as it should.

This is what my research has turned up so far on the history and construction of the dam. There are other case files that further detail the encounter we had with Carfax and how his minions accessed the device.

Chapel Hill, NC has a history of outsiders, weirdos, punks, hippies, actors and miscreants of a particular blend. Lately they’ve been harder to find. Making way for the marriage of new money and old. Developers out to make even the airport coffee Starbucks sells operate under the glamour of being fringe. Now open 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Their numbers are still strong 8 blocks west on the other side of the Welcome to Carborro Line. The pioneers among them have gone further south to forge co-ops and communes on the Chatham County line.

However if you know where to look, you can still find the true believers waiting for the call for the great leap forward. They can be seen at the cemetery leaving tulips for Charles Kuralt. They can found trying out half baked monologues to an empty amphitheater in the Forrest theater. They are bumming bus fair for the free transit system in front of the Weaver Street Market. You can find them dancing in the dark when Dex and Sarah are rocking the Cave. Late at night their stomachs are growling in anticipation of the Gambler, served on salvaged plates from the Old Rat by TJ. Until September you might find one or two of them placing final goodbye scratches behind Red and Elmo’s ears at the Bookshop. If you have a broken heart you might even meet one of them serving you a magic martini at the Carolina Coffee House. If you don’t ask her to take out the olives, she might even tell you where to find their real sanctuary, the Undercity.

Once upon a time there were entrances all over town to the Undercity. Now there are two. You can get in at the Midway Barber Shoppe by asking PJ for a damn fine haircut, or you can make your way to the Undercity via Edith taking a shine to you at the Shrunken Head.

The Undercity got its start as a middle finger to the war on drugs in the 1980’s. It was built three stories the DA’s Office in the old Post Office at the line between East and West Franklin Street. The first occupants used it as a 50 yard marijuana farm. Climate controlled, hydraulic pressed doors 15 inches thick weighing in at 3 tons. Power is taken from the city grid, with a backup system tied to the oil back up for the university’s steam tunnel system. The ceiling lights are ultra violet. In 1989 the marijuana plants were cleared out, sheet-rock walls put up and a sprinkler system put in when it became a music venue.

Fate and fortune conspired to have the Undercity outgrown or forgotten about by the time the year 2000 came around. That changed when Edith, from the Sunken Head was painting her back wall to be ready for Halloween in 2004.

Edith, her husband Spaz gathered up like minded friends and turned the Undercity into a secret market. Only two types of currency are accepted PLENTY Dollars, a social experiment in local economic tender, silver, and quid pro quo from vendor to vendor. Edith and Spazz have spent years reproducing old tomes from the UNC-CH Libraries giving walls a Victorian gothic feel. If you spend enough time browsing the collection you’ll notice it is divided into lore, classics, law, and musical compositions. PJ encouraged a local band of Hari Krishnas and Lutherans to run operate a 30 bed free Hostel. Elizabeth Somner, a pastor with the Lutherans handles most of their operations.

Notable traders include a carpenter named Roger Growler Jose Cardenas gives the first option for his eggs and vegetables to the undercity before taking them his store on the city limit line. Sabrina Windshield trades upcycled gear. Mostly junk but people do throw out useful things. Professor Biarack is always looking for hired hands to help with his “science experiments”. What really makes the place come alive though is hearing teenagers practicing music, kids learning to throw hatchets, and an all ages menageries trying to entertain the market with original productions.

Being deep underground you expect it to smell like mold and mildew but you will pleasantly surprised. The undercity smells like sawdust, olive oil, and birch.

The streets may be wilted and full of fresh paint over decay but the Undercity makes this a town with wandering back to now and again.

Part 1

Victim 1: 35 year old caucasian male. Third degree burns across the entirety of the torso, but not cause of death. Extreme heat melted the vitreous body, and there are small fractures on the inside of the orbit.

Mal paused, trying to find the best word to describe what she was looking at. The chest was splayed open, but there was not an excessive amount of trauma.

There is no indication of ripping or cutting. She furiously erased the sentence. The thoracic cavity was pulled open perimortem. There are holes, three fourths of an inch in diameter through the skin, muscle and into the costal cartilage of ribs 2, 3, 5, 7 and 9. The shape of the wound indicates a hook was used. The hook went through the cartilage and terminates into the posterior of the bone. The ribs are fractured but not broken.

If pulling their chests open without splintering the bone was their goal, this was a smart way to go about it.

The hearts are missing, but there is not any significant damage to the pleural cavity. No indication of any symbols or rituals.

Mal put down her clipboard and pulled on a pair of gloves, in preparation to start her examination of the abdominal cavity. But something made her stop, and she looked down at the body.

Why am I hesitating? It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, in the lab, doing an actual autopsy. Maybe that’s it? But, identifying what killed people is how I got into hunting in the first place, it should feel good, but it doesn’t. Why? Oh, that’s right, I have no soul.

She shook her head, in an attempt to stop her through process, and out of the corner of her eye she caught a glint of metal, lodged between the transverse colon and the stomach. Well, this must be the wire used to pull the chest apart. She thought. It looks thick enough. As she moved the intestine out of the way to access the stomach, she gasped as she noticed bite marks. But they were nothing like she had ever seen. The flesh was not ripped or torn, like she had seen on the victims of typical shifter attacks. It was almost as if the organ was impaled. The punctures were needle thin, on the medial ends of the stomach. Even just from looking at the distance between the bit marks she knew that whatever creature had attacked him, had the capability to dislocate their jaw. What the hell did this?

She removed the stomach with practiced ease, and placed it on a tray. She retrieved a digital camera from her bag, and started taking pictures from various angles. She wasn’t sure why, but something about it reminded her of a sea creature, but she wasn’t positive. Once she was done she sent a text to Chelsea.

Could you see if Empire has a marine biologist on staff? I’m going to forward you some files.

While she waited for a response she confirmed that there were the same bite marks on the internal organs of the other victims. The ones that were further away from the house did not have the damage to their eyes, and the the burns were less severe. She remembered something that Charles had said, about lights flickering near Stella, and she shivered. Her laptop pinged and she opened the email in her inbox.

I was really surprised to hear from you! From the photos you sent me I’d say that it looks like the bite of an anglerfish. But a land dwelling anglerfish big enough to attack humans? That’s like MST3K stuff. I hope that helps. Let me know what you find out!

Sincerely,Amy Perez

A fish shifter? I never even realized that was possible. Someone must know. Mal scrolled through the contacts in her phone, before hitting dial, hoping that the number she had was still active. She sighed in relief when it clicked over to voicemail.

“Hey Ed, it’s Mal. Listen, I have a quick question. Have you ever heard of a shifter that could turn into a fish? Call me as soon as you get this, it’s important.”

Zak Zimmerman

Hey Agentman. Do you remember when I played Chris in ‘The Storm Has A Name’?i’ve been thinking a lot (me? I know right!) about the part where the beautiful fortune teller saw his girlfriend’s death, and then he had a dream about it, and then it happened, just like in the dream! thats what happened to me in SC, except you aren’t my girlfriend (unless theres something you want to tell me :)), the fortune teller was actually a guy dressed as the devil, and it was you from the future talkgin to me instead of a dream. I know this all sounds crazy, just think of it as me ‘going hollywood’ and wasting my money. Oh, right, what I’m spending money on, don’t be worried if you see someone tailing you around (unless its a bad guy, then do be worried), I hired a PI (so cool!) to keep an eye on you until I think you are safe.
Be AWESOME!